You Were Meant For Me
by DarkAngelElektra
Summary: Elektra, the newest Diva on Raw, finds her first year with the WWE defined and complicated by her relationships with three different Superstars: Batista, Triple H and Randy Orton. Batista/OC, also features Ric Flair, Trish, Lita, and others circa 2004.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

Author's Preface: My readers will notice that this story takes place between December of 2003 and May of 2005, the equivalent of ancient history at this point in time. The reason for this is that this period is when I began watching "the wrestling", and by the end of 2004, the seeds of this story had already sprouted inside my mind. Basic laziness and procrastination explain why it's taken until now for the story to be published. All I ask of you is to be kind.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the wrestling superstars, names or other miscellany associated with World Wrestling Entertainment. That is strictly the domain of Vince McMahon. The only character I can claim is Elektra, who is entirely of my own devices.

You Were Meant For Me

Chapter 1- The Beginning of the End

It all began at Armageddon.

In retrospect, Elektra found the idea highly ironic to say that her new life as a WWE Diva began on the so-called "end of days". But then again, she had always had a habit of observing life's little ironies. Take tonight, for example. As the newest Diva on Monday Night Raw, Elektra should have been standing out, had actually been hired for her ability to stand out. But yet, on the night of this pay-per-view, she was trying her best to blend in.

Now, this is not to say that she was trying to disappear entirely. Vince McMahon had brought her on board because, out of hundreds of beautiful girls, she possessed that little extra something that separated WWE Divas from all the rest. And she had worked damn hard for the last few years to make sure that she stood out from all the rest. No, tonight, Elektra was hoping to attract the attention of just one man, and so far, that hadn't happened yet.

Elektra was looking for Triple H.

Unconsciously, she tugged at the hem of her short pleated skirt, as though by doing so, she could magically produce another inch or two of fabric. She remembered examining her reflection critically in the mirror before leaving the women's locker room. Black-and-pink plaid skirt, low-cut black top, shiny black boots that would have earned her the label of "hooker" in her hometown. For a moment, she had actually wondered if the outfit was too slutty, before laughing at herself. "Right, too slutty in the WWE." she muttered to herself. "What are they expecting, a burlap sack?"

Anyone seeing her for the first time would have noticed a tall slim girl, a few inches shy of six feet, with enough of the right curves in the right places to turn heads. Her hair was long, reaching almost halfway down her back, and was a dark espresso brown. Her features were delicate: softly rounded cheekbones and chin providing the necessary angles to an oval face. Her nose was not quite straight; it turned up ever-so-slightly at the end. But the feature that really brought her whole face together was her eyes. Large and cat-shaped, they were an unusual shade of pale grey that turned the color of liquid silver when she became angry or upset. Vince had announced proudly that her eyes were as valuable an asset as Stacy Keibler's forty one and a half inch legs. Elektra had smiled and accepted the compliment, although she secretly wondered if the color of her eyes really mattered to a sold-out stadium crowd mainly concerned with T & A.

At this moment, she kept her one-in-a-million gaze cast demurely toward the floor, looking up every now and again to introduce herself to the odd Superstar. Their reactions to her simple hello ran the gamut of a Sergio Leone film: the good, the bad and the ugly. But Elektra had just chalked it up to the fact that a wrestling roster was just like high school: there were your friends, your enemies, and those weird kids who hung out by the side of the building and smoked. So far, she'd connected the most with Trish Stratus and Lita, who were both nice, if a little reserved and downcast. Elektra couldn't blame them, though, not after seeing them having to endured that humiliating Battle of the Sexes. Seeing as how she was the new kid, they offered to share their hotel room with her.

"But you better not snore!" Trish warned.

"Yeah," Lita added. "Or else we'll have to kill you." The three of them burst into laughter upon hearing this.

But despite the new friends she had made, Elektra still hadn't located the object of her quest, even after walking up and down almost every back hallway in the arena. And then she spotted him. One thing that could be said about Triple H was that he seemed to occupy a lot of space. He was definitely an imposing figure in his wrestling trunks and t-shirt, blond hair falling across a face that could be best described as crudely handsome. At the moment, he was boasting about his eminent victory over Kane and Goldberg to two stunning young women, most likely escorts. Elektra kept her eyes downcast, trailing her fingers lightly along the cinder block wall. She had read somewhere that geisha had the ability to make a man stumble in mid-step just by looking at him. Well, she wasn't expecting that strong of a reaction, but the same principle applied. Elektra had to spark the Game's interest with just one look. As she got closer, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Triple H glance up, probably to gaze at her with appreciation. At that moment, she looked up and met his eyes.

Just as she had hoped, he forgot momentarily about his two female companions, turning his head to follow her movements. Elektra held his gaze until she passed him, then focused back on the hallway ahead of her as if nothing had happened. In the background, she heard a snap of fingers, and realized that it must be Triple H dismissing his girls. _How cliche..._she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. Turning the first corner to her right, she waited a second or two before bending down and pretending to adjust her boot. When she straightened up, she felt him brush back a lock of hair from her neck and then his mouth next to her ear.

"Are you here for my victory party?" he whispered. He laid his hand on the flat of her bare abdomen. His breath was hot against her earlobe. "Or maybe just a private party for the two of us?"

Elektra touched his wrist, making sure to press against him for just a second before pulling away. "Tempting, but unfortunately, I've made other plans for tonight," she purred, catching his eyes at just the right instant. "But if you're looking for a little company at your next get-together, look me up." She put one hand on his chest as she leaned up to his ear. "I'm Elektra."

The Game turned his head, bringing his mouth close to hers. "Tri–"

"The future World Heavyweight Championship hardly needs to introduce himself," Elektra interrupted lightly. "Look, I know you have a huge match coming up soon, so I'll just give you a kiss for good luck." Tiptoing, she kissed him softly on the cheek. "See you around..._Hunter_." she murmured, the emphasis on his first name hinting that they would be more than just casual acquaintances. She didn't look back as she walked away, but she could tell just by the feeling in her gut that she had him.

As soon as she was sure she was out of sight, she leaned back against the wall, a huge satisfied smile spreading across her face. Her mission for the evening was complete. Time to finish introducing herself before heading back to the women's locker room to watch the rest of the pay-per-view.

But then she turned the corner, and just like that, the world's biggest monkey wrench was thrown into her plans...

According to most sets of wrestling stats, Dave Batista was six five, three hundred and eighteen pounds. However, these numbers meant absolutely nothing when one came face-to-face with Evolution's Animal. Still pumped from his win over the Dudleys, he had the Tag Team Championship belt slung over one shoulder. It was this massive piece of metal and leather that Elektra almost collided with as she rounded the corner. Both of them came to an abrupt halt, and Elektra found herself less than two inches away from the words "Tag Team".

Almost as though he expected her to suddenly grab the belt and run like hell, Batista eased his trophy more securely onto his shoulder. "Hey," he complained. "Watch where you're–" His words faltered the minute Elektra forced her eyes off the broad bronze expanse of his chest and up to his face.

She could not have anticipated what would happen next. The moment their eyes met, all of the irritation drained out of Batista's face, and he froze, mouth hanging open slightly. Elektra could only imagine the expression on her own face. She knew about Batista, had seen footage of him and the rest of Evolution in action, but at this moment, it was like she was seeing him for the first time. He exuded this aura of raw power and heat, and Elektra was drawn to him without even thinking about it. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her; felt its pull. Looking into those dark eyes, she saw a spark of attraction that must have registered in her own eyes, because she could feel it moving through her body like an electric current.

As though in slow motion, she saw his hand reaching for her. She braced herself, though she didn't know why, but Batista merely pushed back a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. When his fingers grazed her skin, Elektra knew that this was _right_; that this was how she was supposed to feel. When Triple H had touched her, nothing had happened, but with a simple gesture, Batista had sent a ripple of heat coursing through her body. Unfortunately, he had done it five minutes too late.

With a quick shake of her head, Elektra pushed back Batista, stammering "I'm sorry," in a shaky voice. She walked away as fast as she could, leaving behind a now-confused World Tag Team Champion.

Finding the women's restroom, Elektra dashed into the nearest stall and slammed the door shut. She leaned against the metal wall and closed her eyes, trying to keep her body from shaking. "Shit." she whispered to herself. "Shit, shit, _shit._"

Thus, with two small encounters, the emotional turmoil that would define her first year with the WWE was born.


	2. Chapter 2: Cautionary Tales

Author's Note: Thank you to all of the people who were nice enough to read my frantic late-night posts when I couldn't get the first chapter to upload. I am your biggest fan! Mwwahh!

Chapter 2: Cautionary Tales

Elektra's encounter with Batista had left her too shaken to celebrate her victory over Triple H, so for the rest of the evening, she kept to herself. Sitting in the hotel room late that night with Trish and Lita ("Call me Amy, please,"), she thought to herself that they certainly made quite a trio; the three of them too busy mulling over the men in their lives to have a conversation. Finally, in an attempt to take their minds off of Chris Jericho and Christian, she asked the question that had been rolling around in her own mind since she had been hired. "So...what can you tell me about Evolution?"

It was as if she had just spat out a string of obscenities. Both Divas froze, simultaneously turning to stare at her, then at each other. Trish was the first one to speak.

"What could you possibly want with Evolution?" she asked warily.

Elektra shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "I've heard the bragging; the stories about how they're the most dominant force in this business; that even Eric Bischoff is afraid to cross them. I just want to know what it is about these guys that's put the fear of God into everyone."

"If I were you, I'd start listening to those stories." This time, it was Lita who spoke. She moved to the middle of the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Think of them as cautionary tales. It's not just that these guys are good at what they do–and they are very, very good. It's that they are ruthless enough to use anyone and everyone they can to get to the top. Look at what happened tonight. Do you think any of those matches would have even been possible without the help of our esteemed General Manager?" She rolled her eyes at her use of Bischoff's title. "Evolution backed the winning side at Survivor Series last month. People like RVD and the Dudleys didn't. That's why they got punished." Lita faltered, and turned to Trish for support. "And we got punished just because we stopped accepting Jericho and Christian's crap." She shook her head, as though she was trying to keep what feelings she still had tightly under wraps. "My point...what is my point again? My point is that the guys of Evolution are now Eric Bischoff's golden children, and if they can't get to you on their own, they'll use him to make your life miserable."

"Such as?" Elektra felt horrible for asking, but she had to know. She had to find out exactly what she was getting herself into.

Lita lifted up one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Keeping you out of championship matches, putting you in situations you can't possibly win–the list goes on."

"How else do you think the two of us ended up in that stupid Battle of the Sexes match?" Trish interrupted, her eyes blazing.

"Easy now," Lita said soothingly. "We'll get even somehow. It's just a matter of being patient."

"Easy for you to say," Trish shot back. "You didn't fall for your guy."

An awkward silence followed this. It was obvious that Lita didn't know how to respond, so she haltingly continued her story. "Individually, they're not all _that_ bad. Ric Flair is just a horny bastard. You know, that guy who asks you to call him Uncle Ric–"

"–But he's not really your uncle–" Trish broke in.

"–And every time he hugs you, it's just so he can feel your boobs." Lita finished. Elektra could not suppress a snort of laughter at hearing the legendary Nature Boy reduced down to the family pervert. "Randy Orton _is_ someone you need to watch out for, so I would recommend the buddy system if you're ever around him."

"Yeah, he seems intimidated by women who travel in packs of two or three." Trish was getting good at throwing her two cents in.

Lita turned to her, finger-combing her vibrant red hair away from her face. "Look, do you want to tell this story, or are you gonna let me tell it?" Trish held up her hands, indicating that there would be no more interruptions. Lita turned back to Elektra. "_Annnyywaayyy_...in all seriousness, watch out for Orton, okay? I looked into his eyes once, and there was nothing there. Nothing at all to make you think that he's anything resembling a human being." She tapped her chin. "Who am I missing?"

"What about Batista?" Elektra asked, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Luckily, neither Lita nor Trish seemed to sense anything amiss. Lita frowned.

"Batista...I don't know. I just don't know very much about him. He keeps to himself, spends all his time with Evolution, and I've never seen him give any particular attention to any of the other Divas."

"Maybe he hasn't seen anything that he likes," Trish joked.

"_Trish_, what did I just say?"

Trish held up her hands in mock defense. "I'm sorry, but that needed to be said. I mean, we were all thinking it." Lita sighed and rolled her eyes. Elektra, on the other hand, was just grateful that the room was dim enough so the other Divas wouldn't see her blush.

"You want my personal opinion?" Lita added. "I think that Batista is exactly what they call him...an animal."

"In more ways than one." Trish muttered to no one in particular.

"_Trish_!"

"I'm sorry, but don't tell me that you've never gotten a hot flash watching that man deliver a spinebuster. He's a _beast_."

"Moving on," Lita interrupted, talking over Trish. "And this is the important part of the story, so pay attention. The man that you absolutely have to watch out for, no exceptions, is Triple H."

Trish's expression went from playful to something resembling fear. "Trust both of us on this, Elektra. He is _not_ someone you want to get involved with."

"Why?" Elektra knew it was a stupid question as soon as she asked, but again, she had to know everything.

There was another long pause and another exchange of glances before Trish was finally designated as storyteller. "Five years ago, Triple H forged the most powerful alliance when he married the boss's daughter."

"Which led to the McMahon-Helmsley Era. Yeah, yeah, I know all that." Elektra interjected impatiently.

"_Listen_." Trish was insistent, so Elektra shut her mouth. "Originally, he just wanted power...and the chance to lord over Vince the fact that he was banging his daughter. But then...he made a very crucial mistake: He actually fell in love with Stephanie. And once Stephanie found out that the leader of D-Generation-X had fallen for her, she used it to embarrass him in front of the whole world."

"Since then," Lita picked up the thread of the story. "Triple H has _never_ let another woman get that close. He holds everyone at a distance...but if you cross him, he will destroy you. He makes a public example out of you, and he uses Evolution to back him up. _That's_ what everyone is afraid of. Three of the most ruthless Superstars on Monday Night Raw, with a permanent gold star from Bischoff himself, led by a man who, _at best_, can be described as pure evil. If you piss off one of them, you get the wrath of all of them."

Trish peered at Elektra quizzically. "So...enough pussyfooting around. Why are _you_ so interested in Evolution all of a sudden?"

Elektra took a deep breath, wondering if she should lie, then decided that she might as well start with the truth. "Because I'm hoping to join them."

It was the first time in her life that she had ever seen a simultaneous double take. Trish was so surprised that she almost fell off the bed.

"_W-What?_" she sputtered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Are you out of your mind?" Lita exploded. "Did you not hear a word we said?"

"Look, I know what I'm doing," Elektra retorted, pushing her hair out of her face as she struggled to keep her own temper in check.

"Oh, yeah, famous last words," Lita replied, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious!" Elektra exclaimed. She stopped, took a few deep breaths, and continued. "Okay, I've always wanted to be a WWE Diva, but I've been studying this business long enough to know that if you don't have the wrestling skill to back yourself up, then you are just a piece of meat in a sea full of sharks. And if what you've said about Evolution is true–that if you mess with one, you mess with all–then I'll be in the safest place I could ever be. If I'm with them, then _no one can touch me_. Do you understand? That's what I care about most: protection."

There were several minutes of silence. Finally, Trish spoke up. "I'm not saying that your reason isn't a good one. All I'm saying is that hopping on board with Evolution is like moving from a sea of sharks to a swimming pool of great whites. And if Triple H–and I know it's Triple H you've got your eye on–gets tired of you, what then?"

"Just promise us that you will think about what we've said before you make any kind of decision, all right?" Lita asked.

Elektra looked from one to the other, and sighed. Not because she had to start from scratch, but because she was about to lie to the first friends she'd made on Raw. "All right," she answered. "I promise."


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome To Evolution

Chapter 3: Welcome to Evolution

Elektra must have really made an impression on Triple H the previous evening. When she arrived at the arena in Tampa for Monday Night Raw, she was immediately summoned to Eric Bischoff's office.

"Elektra, welcome," Bischoff flashed her one of his unctuous, car-salesman smiles. As soon as she shook hands with him, Elektra instantly wanted to take a shower, but nevertheless, she managed to cover up her distaste.

"Mr. Bischoff, it's wonderful to finally meet you." Bischoff let go of her hand, and held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face first to the left, then to the right. He didn't say a word, and Elektra began to feel even more uncomfortable. She wondered if the rumors about Bischoff being some kind of pervert actually had some validity.

"Vince was right..." Bischoff mused, more to himself than to her. Noticing her confusion, he finally let go of her face. "It's hard to miss eyes like that."

"C'mon, Eric. You didn't bring the poor girl in here just so you could make her feel like a freak."

Elektra turned, and Bischoff indicated the figure sitting in front of his desk. "I believe you've already met our new World Heavyweight Champion, Triple H."

Triple H was wearing a dark charcoal suit and a white dress shirt open at the neck. His smile managed to be both arrogant and utterly charming at the same time.

Elektra flashed a brilliant smile of her own at the champion, actually relieved that he was here. "Of course. Hunter and I are old friends." He extended his hand, and she accepted it, easing herself onto his lap. Very casually, he moved his hand to her leg and began massaging her knee.

If Bischoff was at all embarrassed by this display of affection, he didn't show it. "Well, I've been looking over your file, at these glowing recommendations from Vince and from Ohio Valley. Seems that you're one of their best when it comes to cutting promos, but you're still not that strong in the ring."

"I know the basics, sir," Elektra explained. "Clotheslines, kicks, simple takedowns...I'm not just a pretty face; I know how to take bumps in the ring."

"That's all well and good, but I think we're both in agreement when I say that you're a long way away from challenging Molly Holly for the women's title. So the question is...what to do with you until then?" Bischoff leaned against the edge of his desk, steepling his fingers under his chin. "In fact, I was just puzzling over that question when Hunter dropped by, and when I mentioned my problem, he offered a very generous solution: Why not make you a part of Evolution?"

Inwardly, Elektra was dropping to her knees and exclaiming, "_Yes_, _yes_!", but outwardly, she acted as though the entire idea was a big surprise. "Me? A part of Evolution?"

"Why not?" Bischoff flashed that oily smile of his again. "I think a female figure is exactly what the group needs right now. After all, what better way for Hunter to celebrate his seventh–"

"–Eighth–" Triple H corrected absently, casually brushing a lock of dark hair away from Elektra's face before turning his attention back to the General Manager.

"–My mistake. What better way to celebrate his _eighth_ World Championship title then by having the hottest new Diva on Raw on his arm? Besides, what better place to improve your wrestling skills than with four of the most talented Superstars in the WWE? And if, somewhere down the line, once you've honed your in-ring performance, should you want a shot at the Women's Championship..." Bischoff shrugged, holding his hands out. "I wouldn't object to it."

He rose to his feet. Elektra and Triple H followed suit. "Now, I have some business to attend to before tonight's show, so I'll see both of you later."

* * *

"So, what did you think of our esteemed General Manager?" Triple H asked as the two of them strolled down the corridor. He rested his hand lightly on the small of her back. Elektra leaned against him, basking in his attention and in the appreciative glances she was getting from passing Superstars and crew members.

"Very little...other than the fact that he was on the verge of dropping to his knees and waiting for you to unzip your fly." As soon as she said it, Elektra instantly regretted her words. She was so accustomed to using crude analogies to illustrate her point, she hadn't stopped to think that maybe Triple H preferred someone a little more feminine. She needn't have worried: instead of taking offense, the Game threw his head back and laughed.

"Now, if that's not the most accurate I've heard about Eric, I don't know what is." His hand slid a little lower, and he gently squeezed her butt. "I love a girl who's not afraid to talk dirty."

"Well, you know that actions speak louder than words," Elektra countered playfully.

Triple H stopped. Turning toward her, he stepped closer and closer until she backed into the wall. Bracing himself with one hand, he reached out to cup her cheek with the other. "So why don't we stop talking?" he replied softly, and kissed her. The kiss was quick, but passionate. Elektra pressed her body against the Game's, tangling her hands in his hair. For such an evil mastermind, he certainly had nice hair. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes for a minute, though she couldn't tell whether he was admiring them or trying to discern some kind of truth. Elektra stared just as hard into his, but try as she might, she couldn't see even a hint of unnecessary emotion, nothing that would give her a clue to his inner thoughts. Of course, he had had more than a year to practice shutting himself off from others. How could she, a newbie, expect to get in his mind on the first try?

Triple H smiled suddenly, the old arrogance returning to his features. He moved his hand up to encircle the base of her neck, and Elektra was momentarily reminded of the control he now had over her. The two of them started off down the hall again. "Don't worry," he said soothingly. "There'll be plenty of time to have some fun. Right now, it's time to introduce you to the most dominant force in the history of this business."

Elektra smiled, hoping that he wouldn't sense her nervousness. It wasn't that she hadn't felt anything when Triple H kissed her, because she had. After all, he was the World Heavyweight Champion, and despite the calculated way she had attached herself to him, she couldn't deny a mutual attraction between them. No, it was the fact that when Triple H had kissed her...all she could think about was Dave Batista.

* * *

"Did you see the look on Mick Foley's face when I hit that RKO? After all that talk, he still had to count to three and name me the _new_ Intercontinental Champion." Randy Orton smirked, and gestured to the championship belt adorning his sculpted waist.

Ric Flair cackled and grinned conspiratorally, slapping Orton on the back. "_Exactly_...and it's that kind of attitude that makes you, the Legend Killer, the future of this business."

Batista continued lacing up his boots, pretending that he hadn't heard this little exchange for the twentieth time. Glancing over, he took a long look at the Tag Team Championship belt sitting next to him, at the new nameplate gracing its front. On the one hand, he was feeling just as smug and confident as Orton about his first title win, but on the other hand, he was becoming more and more ashamed of the way he'd lost his cool after his defeat by Shawn Michaels.

_Smooth move there, Dave,_ he told himself. _Keep acting like that, and it's no wonder they keep calling you The Animal_. Most of the time, he was completely comfortable with this persona, but more and more lately, he'd been wondering if it was _his_ destiny to be nothing more than Evolution's glorified muscle. Luckily, at least for Evolution's sake, he kept these thoughts to himself, but unfortunately, that didn't stop them from keeping him awake some nights.

But not last night. No, last night, he'd been kept awake by a far more attractive image than his own doubts and misgivings. All day, he'd been unable to stop thinking about that girl. There was just something about her, something that separated her from all the other beautiful women that were a fixture of Monday Night Raw. Well, for starters, he'd never seen eyes like hers before, that pale silvery color that seemed to peer right into his soul. He'd felt a instant connection with her, and had been about to ask her name when she'd run off, like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. Batista had looked everywhere, but he hadn't been able to find her, and unlike the fairy tale, she hadn't left behind a glass slipper.

It was just as well. For all he knew, she was already getting shipped off to Ohio Valley or Deep South for the six months. For all he knew, she had a boyfriend already.

Ric's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour! Our _new_ World Heavyweight Champion!" There was a brief pause, then: "WOOO! And _who_ does he have with him _tonight_?"

Batista looked up, but Flair and Orton were blocking his view. He shrugged and focused back on his boots. By now, he was used to Triple H bringing back escorts, beautiful young women who gazed up at the Game as if he was their world. Whenever this happened, Triple H would shoot Batista a look that could best be described as _Look what I got. And she chose me, not you_. It was at those times that Batista wondered if Triple H was trying to compete with him, though why an eight-time World Champion would feel threatened by a one-time Tag Team Champion, he'd never know.

In retrospect, he'd realize that she made a beeline right for him, leaving Flair and Orton on the wayside as if the pedigrees of the Nature Boy and the Legend Killer simply didn't interest her. At the time, though, all he saw was a flash of white in his peripherals, a hand extended palm down in front of his face, and an intruding voice that was smoke and honey and teasingly familiar.

"Hi...I'm Elektra."

Batista took the proffered hand, looked up, and felt that peculiar sensation of being punched in the gut when he saw those eyes again. He literally had trouble catching his breath. Elektra was wearing white that night; one of those tiny babydoll numbers that only some girls can pull off. It afforded him a nice view of long tanned legs and (since he was still sitting down) an even nicer view of ample cleavage. She wore white high-heeled shoes that laced up her legs, and her long dark hair was simple and straight tonight. The white made her grey eyes shimmer.

Elektra tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't prevent a slow blush from rising up in her cheeks. Something about Batista's gaze made her feel as though she wasn't wearing anything.

Triple H looked back and forth, from one to the other, his smile fading and a small frown creasing his features. "Have you two met before?"

Batista dropped Elektra's hand and looked toward the Champion. "Something like that." His features relaxed into a smile. "I almost ran her down in the hallway last night."

For a few uncomfortable seconds, there was absolute silence in the locker room before Triple H's frown eased itself into a smile. He broke into laughter, which was the cue for everyone else to start laughing as well. When they had calmed down, he turned back to Batista. "You should be more careful, Dave. You're a frickin' Mac truck when you're pissed; you're lucky you didn't flatten her." The room erupted into laughter again, only this time, Batista didn't join in. The World Heavyweight Champion placed his hand possessively on the back of Elektra's neck, drawing her close to him. "Yes, it's official...Elektra here will be joining our little organization."

A look of skepticism crossed the Nature Boy's face. "I don't know, Hunter...a _woman_? In _Evolution_?"

Elektra cocked her head to one side, her lips curling in a playful smile. "What's the matter, Mr. Flair? Are only _boys _allowed to play in your club?"

The look of shock on Flair's face was priceless, and he soon burst out laughing. "Oh, I _like_ her! Where'd you find her?"

Triple H grinned down at the new WWE Diva at his side. "I saw her wandering the hallways and decided to take her under my wing. She could be useful to us; no sense letting all this–" he indicated her curvaceous figure. "–go to waste." Elektra didn't laugh with the others this time, and looking out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Batista wasn't, either.

"Seriously though," the Game continued once the laughter had died down. "We _are_ Evolution. We've beaten the best, so we deserve the best. And what better way to celebrate my eighth title reign than to come out to the ring with the best-looking Diva on Raw on my arm?"

Randy whistled appreciatively. "Well, I have to say, Hunter, you do know how to pick 'em." He moved just a little closer to Elektra, looking her up and down. "Who can forget eyes like that?"

"Actually, Randy," Elektra replied. "My eyes are a little higher." Now it was Randy who didn't join in the laughter that followed.

"Well, men," Triple H announced. "We have a few victories to gloat over tonight, so let's clear out. You–" This was directed at Elektra. "–stay here. There are some things we need to..._discuss_."

One by one, the remaining members of Evolution filed out of the locker room like obedient children. However, Batista couldn't resist sneaking a glance back. The Game had his back to the door, and had pulled Elektra into an embrace, kissing her neck. Elektra's head was arched back, her eyes closed in ecstasy. But when Batista looked back, her eyes opened and her gaze locked onto his.

And the Animal began to wonder why, after all the other women in the past, seeing Triple H with _this _one filled him with such jealousy.


	4. Chapter 4: Relationships and Rematches

Author's Note: To the people who have read my story so far and sent me reviews, thank you so much! The fact that you're taking time to read my story makes me want to update faster and write the best story that I can! Again, thank you!

* * *

Chapter 4: Relationships and Rematch Clauses

Monday Night Raw was nearing the one-hour mark. Batista strolled the halls, his hard-won title slung over his shoulder. Wait...could he really call it hard-won when it had been acquired with so little effort? The Animal tried to shrug the thought away, and instead began concentrating on studying the other wrestlers who passed him, taking note of their strengths and weaknesses. That was one of the first lessons Triple H and Flair had taught him: Know your enemy. The glares he was getting in return didn't phase him. After all, he represented Evolution, and if these Superstars couldn't accept the fact that Evolution was a force to be reckoned with, he had no qualms about "reminding" them.

But the harder he tried to concentrate, the more thoughts of Elektra kept invading his mind. _Part of Evolution_. That was the one possibility that his mind had never considered; the notion that she'd be so close yet so far away. Batista wondered if, finally, karma had got around to biting him in the ass. What better way to punish him than by being around her almost all the time, but never being able to touch her?

He doubted that her feelings for Triple H ran any deeper than a physical attraction. This had all happened too suddenly for it to be anything else. Most likely, she was just using him for Evolution's protection. Batista couldn't condemn her motives; it wouldn't be the first time in this business that someone prostituted themselves for protection. So why did this particular relationship of convenience bother him so much? Why should he care if Triple H put his arm around her, or kissed her, or even–

Batista sighed. This was ridiculous. He was getting nowhere and driving himself crazy in the process. The best thing to do would be to head back to the locker room and clear his head, which he did. When he saw the familiar emblem on the door, Batista smiled. Already, his thoughts were distilling back to the basics: dominate and destroy. He stepped into the room and closed the door, leaning his forehead against the cool metal. He turned around, and was so startled that he had to face the door again.

Elektra laid stretched out on one of the benches. She was on her side, her head pillowed on one arm. She had obviously not heard him come in: she had a pair of slim white earphones plugged into her ears, and her eyes were closed, her head moving rhythmically to the beat of some song only she could hear. The look on her face was dreamy, serene, almost like she was sleeping. Batista finally turned back toward her, and couldn't stop himself from studying her. Her slender crossed ankles, her dark hair spread out across the bench, her breasts swelling up out of her dress (and in danger of falling out altogether)...something about her just drew him in.

As though she could sense him staring at her, Elektra opened her eyes and, when she saw Batista, sat up. She pulled her headphones out of her ears. "Sorry," she said apologetically. "When I listen to Zombie, I just get in the zone."

"You know, there _is _a women's locker room." Did that come out harsher than he had intended?

If it had, Elektra didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, but when I went there, it was all blah blah blah and then someone started singing Jessica Simpson. At least in here there's peace and quiet...and better taste in music." When Batista didn't say anything, she tilted her head to the side and looked at him. "Okay, that was supposed to be funny. I know I'm not the world's best joke teller, but you could at least humor me." Still no response. Finally, Elektra laid her IPod off to the side, clearing her throat. "Look, Batista, I feel like you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. I know that we're going to working together and I don't want things to be weird, so if I've done anything–"

"Shouldn't I be the one apologizing?" Batista interrupted. "After all, I did almost run you over."

Elektra sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It looked like she was mentally counting to ten. Finally, she pulled her gaze back to his. She seemed to be studying him intently. "You know, it's funny..." she mused aloud.

Batista was thrown off-guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "What is?" he asked cautiously.

Elektra glanced at the floor, smiling self-consciously. "Some of the other Divas warned me about you; said that you were just an animal." She looked back up at him. "So why is it that you're the one person I've felt completely comfortable around?"

Batista stared into those pale eyes, and found himself wishing desperately that things were different. But whether she knew it or not, she belonged to Triple H now, and he had to respect that. She couldn't ask him to step over a line that she had drawn. Looking at her, he realized that he hated her a little bit; for using Hunter, for letting herself be used, for trying to encourage and dash his hopes at the same time. No matter how he felt about Elektra, Batista was not going to let himself become her plaything.

"Hunter must be looking for you. Why don't you go find him?" His voice was cold and terse.

The look that passed across Elektra's face was as though she'd been slapped. It was fleeting, though, and quickly replaced by a smile that was just a little too bright and a little too forced. "You're right. I guess I got so wrapped up in my music that I lost track of things." Her voice broke just a little on the last word and a flash of pain crossed over her features. But before Batista could even say anything, she had brushed past him. "See you around." Her voice had taken on a harder edge, one that he hadn't noticed until now.

"Look, Elektra, I–" Batista turned around to apologize, but she was already gone. Deep inside, he felt that raging untapped emotion, the source of the Animal, begin to boil over. He didn't make a sound, but punched the door as hard as he could.

* * *

Elektra strode down the hall, her face a tightly controlled mask. She didn't let her tears take over, but her heart had shrunk into a cold hard ball of misery. She wasn't sure who she was angrier at: herself for letting her guard down, or Batista for rejecting her. She had anticipating the rejection, but not like this. If Batista had felt nothing for her, had laughed in her face, then at least she would have known for sure and would have been able to get over him. But just looking into his eyes a few minutes ago had shown her that there was no way that theory could be true. She had seen the same longing that she felt just being around him. Which was crazy, because she barely knew him.

And because she was with Triple H now.

Elektra stopped and slammed her palm against the wall. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!" she muttered to herself. After all that she had done to attract the interest of Triple H, she had almost ruined everything by opening herself up like that. If she wasn't more careful, she was liable to get both her and Batista in a world of trouble. She remembered what Lita had said: _If you cross him, he will destroy you_. If she screwed around on him, he would find out somehow, and that would be the end of her. And Elektra was not ready to sacrifice herself for something that could turn out to be nothing more than an infatuation.

At the other end of the hall, she spotted Trish and Lita. Both were in their wrestling gear and neither one looked very happy. Trish appeared to be crying and Lita was trying to console her. Elektra quickened her pace, coming to Trish's side. "Hey, girl, what's wrong?"

Trish sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Bischoff told Lita and me that last night wasn't enough; that he wasn't finished with us, and so he organized a Battle of the Sexes rematch for tonight."

"That bastard." Lita muttered, patting Trish's shoulder comfortingly. "He just won't let it go."

"And if that wasn't bad enough," Trish continued haltingly. "Jericho, that _asshole_–" She stopped and tried to collect herself. "After what he did to me last night, you'd think he'd be proud of himself and maybe leave him alone. But _no_, he has to keep following me around, trying to apologize, saying that he's in _love_ with me, for God's sake. Like I'm gonna fall for his act again."

"Don't worry about Jericho. He's just a pathetic loser," Lita soothed. Trish suddenly looked up, her eyes widening.

"There he is now!" she exclaimed. "Don't let him see me!" She jumped off the equipment crate she had been sitting on, and crouched to the side of it, just as Chris Jericho came hurrying down from the far end of the hallway.

"Hey," he asked breathlessly. "Have either one of you see Trish? I thought I spotted her, but I guess I was mistaken."

Elektra quickly stepped close to the crate and Lita did the same, so that they effectively blocked Trish from Jericho's view. "No, we haven't," Lita snapped. "Look, Chris, you got your revenge, all right? You got your big laugh at our expense. Why don't you leave her alone?"

Jericho ran his fingers through his long blond hair. "Leets, I'm sorry, okay? I never meant for it to end up like this. It was all Christian's–"

"Oh, yeah, blame it on the Creepy Little Bastard," Lita interrupted. "_You're_ the one who hangs out with him. Just like _you_ were the one who accepted that stupid bet. So get lost, Y2J. _Trish isn't interested_."

Jericho looked from one to the other, but when it became clear that neither Diva was budging, he sighed and trudged away. Both women waited until he was out of sight before Lita whispered: "All clear!"

"Wow," Elektra mused. "I almost felt sorry for him."

"Are you kidding me?" Trish grumbled as she pulled herself to her feet. "Chris Jericho is a Grade-A douche."

"Hey," Elektra replied indignantly. "I said _almost_."

"All right now, break it up, you two." Lita interjected. "Let's change the subject." She turned to Elektra. "You rooming with us again tonight?"

"That won't be necessary," Triple H's raspy growl of a voice made all three Divas jump. The World Heavyweight Champion appeared suddenly behind Elektra, putting his hand around her shoulders. "Elektra here is running with a new crowd. A _better_ crowd. So why would she need to hang out with skanks like you when she's got _Evolution_." He turned to Elektra. "Listen, babe, I've been looking for you–"

"Since when have _you_ been part of Evolution?" Lita asked bitterly.

"Since today." Triple H answered before Elektra could even open her mouth. "And if you'd said yes instead of no a while back, you could be, too. After all, Orton's always had his eye on you."

Lita's features twisted in disgust. "No thanks."

Triple H shrugged. "Suit yourself. But it's that kind of attitude that gets you into Battle of the Sexes matches." His smirk got wider. "Pity that it didn't turn out the way you planned."

Lita crossed her arms over her chest. "You didn't listen to a thing we said last night." This was more of a statement than a question. She shook her head. "You two deserve each other." Turning on her heel, she stormed off, a reluctant Trish just behind her. Elektra wondered if she had just lost her first friends after only one day.

Triple H glanced at her. "What was _that _all about?"

Elektra shook her head. "Nothing, just some horror story about Evolution she was trying to force on me." She looked at the Game and smiled. "What did you want to see me about?"

Triple H looped his arm around her waist and led her down the hall. "As I was saying," he continued. "The Dudleys called in their rematch clause, so Batista and Flair have their first title defense in a few minutes. So I thought it would be great exposure for you _and _Evolution if you accompanied them down to the ring."

"Really?" Elektra was speechless. "I...I mean, my debut isn't until next week!"

The Game shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We won't tell them who you are; we'll just let them wonder. By the time you make your debut, everyone will be talking about the hot little number on the World Heavyweight Champion's arm."

They reached the Titantron entrance. Batista and Flair were already by the black curtain, Flair clad in an elaborately sequined red and yellow robe. Batista's eyes locked on Elektra's, and she could feel herself blush. Triple H pulled her close for what she thought was reassurance, but which turned out to be an additional instruction. "Oh...By the way, those two should have no problems dealing with the Dudleys tonight, but if they happen to run into trouble...do whatever you have to to help them." Then he was gone, and Elektra was left with the World Tag Team Champions.

Elektra's pulse was racing. This was too soon, this was all too soon...What exactly would she have to do? Elektra wondered if this was some type of test designed to gauge her loyalty to Evolution. If so, she was gambling for larger stakes than the Tag Team Championships.

Batista must have noticed her nervousness, because he reached out and touched her shoulder. The contact sent a current through her body. "Hey," he said. "Look at me." Elektra did so. Batista looked her right in the eyes. "Don't worry. You'll be fine." For a moment, everyone and everything else disappeared and the only thing that remained was her and Batista.

"Of course she will. You think Hunter would have brought a idiot on board?" Flair's voice interrupted their reverie and the spell was broken. Elektra shook her head, trying to put her thoughts back in order.

A stagehand ushered them into position. Elektra heard Batista whisper to her: "Remember, don't look at the camera."

Then they all heard it: the high guitar wail that signaled the start of Evolution's entrance music.

Flair grinned. "Showtime."

The stagehand pulled back the curtain, and the three of them stepped into a completely different world.


	5. Chapter 5: Ready To Debut

Chapter 5: Ready To Debut

The first thing Elektra's mind registered was bright light and the roar that can only come from thousands of people. Everything had taken on this gleaming unearthly hue. Up ahead, she could see the glowing white surface of the ring, its pristine square marred only by the brightly clad bodies within its ropes. The Dudleys were wearing their usual green and yellow camouflage and glowering at the Tag Team Champions.

To her left, Ric Flair spun in a slow circle, the light reflecting off the millions of tiny gemstones on his robe. To her right, Batista crouched down in a pose, displaying his impressive physique. They paused long enough for her to catch up, and she linked her arms through theirs, feeling very much like a debutante on the arms of two different suitors. Amidst the customary boos for Evolution, Elektra could sense an undercurrent of uncertainty in the air, as the audience tried to figure out who she was and, more importantly, why she was there. She heard Jerry Lawler from his vantage point at the commentary table: "Oh, Lord, J.R! Look at her! Look at those PUPPIEEES!"

Elektra allowed herself to smirk, and lifted her chin just a little bit higher. If the fans wanted to treat her like a heel, then so be it. She would act out the role they had chosen for her if it could prove her loyalty to Triple H and to Evolution. It didn't mean she was really a bad person...right?

They reached the ring. Flair, being the sixteen-time World Champion, ascended first and walked along the edge of the ring. The referee came over to pull the ropes apart, but Flair waved him away. Instead, he turned back toward Elektra and motioned for her to climb the stairs as well.

Even though they had never discussed anything, Elektra somehow knew instinctively what he wanted her to do. She carefully mounted the steel steps, holding onto Batista's outstretched hand for support, and navigated the narrow edge of the apron. She gracefully arched her upper body under the top rope and pulled herself into a sitting position on the middle rope. In this way, she effectively pulled the ropes apart for the Nature Boy to step through. Flashbulbs went off all around the arena as Elektra swung her legs into the ring.

Once both Tag Team Champions were inside the squared circle, they headed to their respective corners to pose for the fans. Elektra stood awkwardly in the center of the ring, not entirely sure what to do. She finally looked over at the challengers. Bubba Ray and DeVon were already eyeing her with distrust. Elektra's response was to arch one slender eyebrow and let a small self-satisfied smile cross her lips. Their frowns deepened.

The lights came up, both teams went to their assigned corners, and Elektra slipped out of the ring and down to her vantage point on the far side of the ring apron. The bell sounded and the match began. Unlike last night, the Dudleys had gotten plenty of time to recover, and win or lose, they were not going to lay down without a fight tonight. Flair and DeVon started off the match, and the Nature Boy quickly attacked with a flurry of chops, each one sparking an instant "WOOO!" from the fans. DeVon responded with a series of punches, driving Flair into a corner and making him the unlucky recipient of a cheap shot; an elbow to the back of the head courtesy of Bubba Ray. From that point on, the Dudleys dragged Flair into their corner and proceeded to work him over with their customary rough-and-tumble style, frequently tagging in and out.

Batista pounded the turnbuckle in frustration. "Come on, Ric!" he shouted. Holding onto the tag rope, he paced back and forth like a caged animal. Elektra could tell that he desperately wanted in there. She also knew that the last thing the Dudleys wanted was an unleashed Batista in the ring. Flair finally fought his way out of Dudleyville, chopping Bubba Ray, then DeVon, then one, then the other in rapid succession. He staggered toward Evolution's corner, but just when it seemed he would reach Batista's outstretched hand, he stopped and fell flat on his face.

"Come on, Flair!" Elektra screamed, and slammed her hand down on the ring, trying to will some life back into the Nature Boy. Flair slowly got to his feet, just as Bubba Ray grabbed one of his ankles. Hopping on one leg, Flair teetered for a moment and reaching out, slapped the Animal's hand.

With a roar, Batista was in the ring, clotheslining bodies left and right. He scooped up DeVon like he weighed nothing and threw him down onto the mat with a thunderous powerslam. He Irish-whipped Bubba Ray toward the ropes and bent over, planning to back-body-drop the ECW alumnus right onto his brother. However, Bubba Ray halted just in time and kicked Batista right in the face. The Animal reeled, and Bubba Ray used the distraction to hit him with a shoulder block, knocking him to his knees.

Elektra pounded the ring frantically with both hands. She didn't know what to do: Flair was out of it, leaning on the ropes for support. As she watched, both Dudleys waited for Batista to get to his feet, then sent him crashing to the mat again with a two-man flapjack. The crowd roared, knowing what was inevitable. The Dudleys looked around and then threw their arms in the air, shouting "3-D!" Batista was starting to stir, so Bubba Ray ran toward the ropes on Elektra's side, intending to use the momentum to deliver one last elbow drop.

Elektra wasn't sure whether she acted out of desperation or just some innate ring sense. Either way, as Bubba hit the ropes, she grabbed his ankle with both arms. The force of a moving 300-plus pound man being brought to an abrupt halt almost knocked her into the ring, but she hung on. Bubba Ray was brought to his knees. He quickly shook it off, and turned around, glaring down at her. He reached down and before Elektra could do anything, grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her up to his level. "What the hell are you trying to do, bitch?" he screamed at her, jamming his face right into hers. Elektra could actually see his nostrils flaring. She struggled to free herself, but the pain was excruciating. She felt her feet starting to lose their footing on the ring apron. Was this how her career with WWE was destined to end, with her guillotining herself on the top rope as she fell?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur of movement behind Bubba Ray. Elektra involutarily drew in a deep breath. Bubba Ray must have noticed her reaction, because he let go of her, turned around...and walked right into a massive spinebuster from Batista. Elektra clung to the ropes and eased herself safely back onto the floor, sighing with relief. Massaging the spot where her hair had almost been yanked out by the roots, she looked up and saw Batista staring at her, as though he was trying to gauge whether or not she was all right. At this moment, she could feel the raw power and sexual energy that he exuded. It was the kind of attraction that appealed to the primal side of her nature. An image flashed briefly in her mind; the thought of Batista tearing her clothes off and taking her right there in the ring. Elektra felt her face burning. She could laugh off their emotional connection all she wanted, but both she and Batista would be lying if they denied there was a physical attraction between them as well. As Batista covered Bubba Ray for the three-count, he glanced over at her again and a realization passed between them. It was quickly suppressed by their subconscious, but for that moment, they understood that the hunger each of them felt could only be satisfied by the other.

Lillian Garcia was calling out the winners' names, Evolution's music was blasting and the fans were booing, but all that Elektra could see and hear was Dave Batista.

She climbed into the ring, striding right to Batista's side and when Flair joined them, she raised both of their hands in victory.

Her Evolution era had begun.

* * *

When Elektra got back to the hotel room that night, her whole body was tingling. Whether it was from adrenaline or pent-up sexual energy, she didn't know. Either way, she was startled by the sound of singular applause coming from the corner. She turned to see Triple H sitting in an upholstered chair, the only light in the room coming from a small table lamp. He was clapping softly.

Elektra smiled and turned the rest of the way to face him, planting her feet apart. "Was I good?" she asked innocently.

"Babe, you were terrific. _That_ is _exactly_ what being part of Evolution is all about."

"So..." Elektra paused and licked her lips. "Do I get a reward?"

The Game smiled. In the dim light, it looked more like a leer. "Of course." He eyed her body appreciatively. "Nice dress." His smile widened. "Take it off."

* * *

Batista rolled onto his side, trying to find a comfortable spot somewhere on the couch. No use: the sofa was half the width of his body and stiff as a board besides. Even though he was a Tag Team Champion and hands down the largest member of Evolution, he _still_ got stuck with the couch. All because Triple H wanted to have a little fun with his new toy. He could still see the Game smirking at him. _You understand, don't you, Dave?_

Yeah, he understood, all right. Understood that no matter how many titles he won, he could still expect to get sex-iled like some college roommate.

"Elektra..." he whispered, enunciating each syllable. Fluffing his pillow a little more, he closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sounds emanating from Triple H's room next door.

* * *

Elektra's official Monday Night Raw debut came the following week, as she had originally planned. Up until that point, she continued to accompany Evolution to the ring during house shows, particularly Triple H. had posted an article about the mysterious woman romantically linked to the World Heavyweight Champion, but without a name, it was barely a story. Apparently, Bischoff had forbidden the rest of the Raw roster from disclosing anything about Elektra until after her debut. Triple H probably had something to do with it as well. But all that would change after tonight. After tonight, the whole world would know her name.

Elektra carefully applied a layer of lip gloss, rubbing her lips together and blotting them on a tissue. Stepping back, she checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. Her dress was made out of glittery red material. The skirt was cut asymmetrically, slanting from halfway up her left thigh to just above her right knee. The neckline was cut asymmetrically in the same direction, fastened with a single strap on her left shoulder. She had curled her hair tonight, and it hung down her back in dark shining waves. She had pulled the front strands back from her face, twisting them into some complicated arrangement and fastening them in place with jeweled hair pins.

She pulled over a chair and hiked up her left foot so she could adjust the straps on her red high heels. This one had been feeling a little too tight. As she did so, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. Why did she suddenly look so uncertain? All of a sudden, she had reverted from a confident WWE Diva to a scared little girl from southern Pennsylvania. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she said to herself.

"Do what?" a voice asked behind her. Elektra looked up sharply, and saw Batista leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing a dark pinstripe suit and a dark shirt open at the neck. Elektra tried to keep herself from staring at him. She looked down, and realized suddenly that she was showing off a _whole lot_ of leg. She took her foot off the chair and turned to face him.

"See something you like?" she teased, even though the sunglasses on his face prevented her from knowing exactly where or at what he was looking.

Batista's expression didn't change. "Are you ready yet? Hunter's getting impatient."

Elektra flinched at the harshness of his voice. She supposed she had deserved that, after trying to flirt with him again, but that didn't prevent his response from stinging. She pulled her gaze up to his face. Either he was getting better at meeting her eyes or else he was just using the sunglasses as a shield. She was betting on the latter.

Batista must have noticed her wounded expression, because his own softened slightly. "Sorry...didn't mean to snap. I've just had a lot of things on my mind lately..."

Something about his apology irked Elektra, though she didn't know why. Maybe because of the way that Batista had coldly been keeping her at a distance since last week. Maybe because of the genuine contempt in his voice a few minutes ago. Or maybe it was just her own frustration over the fact that she wanted him and couldn't have him.

Whatever the reason, Elektra couldn't stop herself from spitting out one last retort as she brushed past him: "Yeah, it must be real hard for you, carrying that belt around all the time and being Evolution's bitch." She didn't even know she had vocalized her thoughts until it was too late. She squeezed her eyes shut. _Shit..._ But Batista wasn't finished either. His voice was quiet, but it held a hint of barely disguised emotion:

"Almost as hard as being Triple H's whore."

Elektra spun around, her mouth dropping open in shock. She stormed toward him. "Oh, you son of a b–" She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her waist before she could complete the motion. Quickly, Elektra raised her other hand, but Batista grabbed that one too. Elektra tried to pull herself loose, but the Animal only tightened his grip. She finally stopped struggling and stared up into his face. At this distance, she could see his eyes behind the tinted lenses. She felt her whole body getting warm and knew that she was blushing. Why was this happening? Why did Batista have this kind of effect on her?

Batista tugged her wrist, forcing her to take a step toward him. Another tug, another step. Now their bodies were practically touching. Elektra was acutely aware of their close proximity. She had no idea what Batista was planning to do next, and that uncertainty scared her a little. Without warning, Batista bent his head down and pressed his lips against her palm.

The moment his mouth touched her skin, Elektra felt her insides melt. A moan escaped her throat. Just the feeling of his breath on her palm was driving her crazy. She sagged against him, her knees wobbly. Batista didn't relinquish her wrists, but simply turned his face back toward hers. His mouth was so close to hers...

Elektra tried to speak, but all she could get out was a strangled "Why?". That one word hinted at questions she couldn't bring herself to ask, not now, maybe not ever.

Batista shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he whispered. He finally let go of her wrists, but it didn't make any difference. Elektra couldn't have moved if she tried. Was his face inching closer or was hers? Elektra let her eyes drift close, waiting breathlessly for the moment when their mouths would meet. Batista's fingers grazed her cheek...

And then Triple H's voice boomed from around the corner. "Dave? Elektra? What's going on back there?"


	6. Chapter 6: Crashing the Highlight Reel

Chapter 6: Crashing the Highlight Reel

Batista and Elektra both jumped. Elektra was pretty sure that she felt her heart stop for a second or two. In that time, she realized that Triple H wasn't right behind them; he was still somewhere around the corner. The cinderblock and concrete had simply amplified his voice. Elektra looked back at Batista, noticing that his expression mirrored her own: that if Triple H saw them like this, it would mean nothing but trouble.

Elektra stared at the Animal, and found herself hating him; partly for putting her in this position, but mostly for the fact that he couldn't even decide how to be toward her. "He can't see us like this." She shook her head, her body starting to tremble with emotion. "Damn you..." she whispered. "Damn you for making me forget..." With that, she suddenly and swiftly brought her knee up between his legs as hard as she could. Batista grunted; she saw his eyes widen behind the sunglasses, and he toppled forward, crumpling into a heap on the ground. It didn't matter how big you were; once you took a shot to the balls, it was pretty much game over.

"Elektra? Dave? What, are you two making out back there or something?" Triple H finally appeared around the corner. He was wearing a dark suit and his blond hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He looked from the fallen body of Batista to Elektra standing over him, regarding the scene with mild amusement. "_Jesus_, Dave, what did you _do_?" He glanced at Elektra quizzically for an explanation.

Elektra decided on a version that was mostly truth, leaving out of course what had transpired right before the low blow. "All I did was make some comment about how he was turning into Evolution's errand boy, and out of the blue, he calls me a name I'd rather not repeat in mixed company." She gestured down at Batista. "So...you know...I–" She pantomimed.

For a moment, Triple H didn't say anything, and then he abruptly burst out laughing. "That'll show you, Dave. Don't mess with her; she's a wild one." He pulled Elektra close and kissed the side of her neck. "Hell, you should have seen her last night. Turns out she's a screamer. But then again, you probably heard that."

Elektra tried to keep herself under absolute control, but it was almost impossible. It was bad enough to listen to Triple H spill their bedroom secrets, but it must have been even worse for Batista to hear them, in addition to suffering the effects of a low blow. Elektra wanted to tell him that she hadn't meant to; that she'd been angry, but more importantly, she'd been trying to protect both of them. _You can't get involved with me_...she wanted to cry out. _Trust me, this is the best thing for us both..._ But she couldn't. Just like the character she played out in the ring, there was a character she had to play around Triple H as well.

Triple H didn't take notice of her moral dilemma, however. Instead, he linked his arm around her waist and led her down the corridor. "Pull yourself together, Dave," he called back. "We've got a Highlight Reel to crash."

Batista finally pulled himself to his knees, trying to ignore the blinding pain. "Easy for you to say," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Chris Jericho paced back and forth in the ring, stroking his chin with one hand. He seemed more pensive than usual, and minus his regular bravado. "Some of you may be thinking: 'What's a sexy beast like Chris doing worrying about one woman?' Well, ever since Armageddon, there's something I've been wanting to say to a certain lady, so may I introduce my first guest on the Highlight Reel, none other than–"

The high guitar wail made him pause, and the instant chorus of boos that followed made further speaking impossible. Jericho looked confused, and with good reason: a interruption by Evolution was probably the last thing he'd expected.

Triple H smirked, completely immune by this point to the crowd's animosity. Randy Orton followed just behind, displaying his Intercontinental Championship proudly on one shoulder. The Tag Team Champions brought up the rear, Batista walking just a little stiffer than normal.

Chris Jericho had never been one to act sensibly, but even he stepped back respectfully as Evolution entered the ring; didn't even protest when Triple H snatched the mic out of his hand.

"Still chasing after Trish, huh?" The Game smiled condescendingly. "Let's face it: me, Evolution, the locker room, this whole audience is tired of hearing you bitch and moan about Trish Stratus. Every night, you walk around whining 'Trish won't go out with me. I can't stop thinking about Trish.' Give me a break." The World Heavyweight Champion paused. "But then I started thinking: what's so hot about Trish Stratus, anyway? I mean, she's obviously too hot for you, but then again, so are the rest of the Divas on Raw. Hell, this audience is too hot for you, and let me tell you, there are some _ugly_ people out here in San Antonio tonight." This sparked another round of jeers from the fans. "But why are you spending all this time worrying over Trish Stratus when the hottest Diva on Monday Night Raw just joined Evolution?"

Jericho frowned, as if this were news to him. Maybe it was.

"In fact," Triple H continued. "Why don't I just let her tell you herself?" He turned toward the Titantron expectantly.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the refrain of Rob Zombie's "Girl on Fire" burst through the sound system as Elektra emerged from the curtains in a kaleidoscope of red and white light. She paused at the top of the ramp, planting her legs apart and spreading her arms out wide, as though she had the power to evoke the shouts of the audience or silence them all together. She looked over at one side of the arena, then the other, before striding down the ramp, her long legs moving in time to the hard rock riffs. She stared straight ahead, smiling haughtily. The fans began booing her, having already marked her down as a heel after her interference in last week's tag team match, but Elektra didn't care. Everything she had worked so hard for in the last few years had been to prepare her for this moment, and whether the fans loved her or hated her, they couldn't change the fact that everyone's eyes were on her now.

She slipped into the ring using what was now becoming her signature entrance–upper body first, legs second–and when Triple H offered her his hand, she accepted it, leaping lightly to her feet. The Game grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. She placed a lingering kiss on his cheek, trailing her hand down his arm to coyly snatch the mic from his hand. Stepping back, she turned her attention to Jericho, her mouth curling in a mock pout.

"First of all, Jericho, I'm hurt." Jericho's face registered confusion. "I mean, here I am, the hottest thing to _ever_ appear on Monday Night Raw, and all you can talk about is that has-been, Trish Stratus." She stepped out to the middle of the ring. "Who cares what she and what's-her name did forever ago at Armageddon? This...this is _my _time now. Beauty has..._evolved_, so to speak." She walked slowly around Jericho, eventually draping herself over his left shoulder and cooing into his ear: "You can call me...Elektra."

Jericho stiffened, not entirely sure what she was going to next. But Elektra walked back toward the center, continuing her little speech. "But I spoke too quickly, because it's not just my time. It's _Evolution's_ time. You see, unlike Trish, I didn't make the mistake of falling for the first jackass who called himself a rock star. No, no, I found myself a _real man_. Oh, yeah, once upon a time, you were the Undisputed Champion." She rolled her eyes. "Big deal." Elektra walked back to Triple H's side. "You don't have one of _these_." She trailed her fingers suggestively down the length of the World Heavyweight Championship belt, shooting a meaningful glance at the Game. The crowd's jeers were deafening. Elektra pulled back, finally letting her irritation show as she glared at hundreds of faces. "Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!"

Triple H laughed, plucking the mic out of her hand. "Easy now, babe." He turned his attention to Y2J. "But she's right, Jericho. So you won your little match at Armageddon. Whoop-dee-doo. All you did was beat a couple of girls. It still doesn't change the fact that you're a _loser_. You're a loser in the ring, _and_ you're a loser with women. So take a good look, Jericho. Take a good, long look, because you'll never, _evvver_, get anything as hot as this!" Taking hold of Elektra's hand, the Game pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily. She hiked her leg up against his body, and he caressed her thigh while he kissed her.

The crowd roared its disgust and disapproval. If it had been an ECW crowd, someone would have thrown a cup of beer by now. Jericho, in the meantime, used the opportunity to reach outside the ring and get another microphone from Lillian Garcia. He stood patiently, waiting for the crowd to calm down.

"_First_ of all," he interjected, his voice regaining its original confidence. "Get a room." The audience burst into laughter, while Elektra and Triple H pulled apart. The Game was scowling. "_Second_...four guys, one girl...is anyone else getting this creepy gang-bang vibe?" Elektra looked at Jericho furiously, her delicate features curling with anger. "_Finally_," Jericho continued, oblivious to the storm that was brewing. "In case you haven't noticed–I'm Chris freakin' Jericho! I'm a sexy beast, baby!"

He didn't get the chance to say anything further, because Elektra stormed over, and with one kick, nailed him in the crotch. There was a collective "Ooooh!" from the crowd. Batista winced. Jericho's mic hit the ring with a THUMP. His mouth opened, but no audible sound came out. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees, cupping himself with both hands.

Triple H didn't even give him time to recover; just marched over and hit Jericho in the side of the head with a two-handed fist. Y2J hit the ring with enough force to make it vibrate. Instantly, like sharks smelling blood, the remaining members of Evolution attacked, driving their feet and knees into Jericho's unprotected ribs and kidneys.

Triple H tore his suit jacket off; loosened his tie. He was barking out orders like mad. "Get him up, get him up!" Batista grabbed Jericho's arm, hauling him bodily to his knees. He and Orton restrained Y2J's arms. Like it mattered; Jericho was barely conscious. Triple H grabbed his chin and began raining down closed fists on the former Undisputed Champion's face. Blood began pouring down Jericho's face. He couldn't even lift his head up. Triple H stepped back, but before Batista and Orton could haul the motionless Jericho to his feet for a Pedigree. Elektra stepped in.

"Let me have a piece of him!" She motioned for the men to pull Jericho up and they did so. She put one finger under his chin, forcing his head up. His eyes, glazed and unfocused as they were, finally met hers. Elektra's expression changed from a self-satisfied smile to a look of sheer hatred, and she pulled back and slapped Jericho across the face with all of her might. His head snapped sharply to the side. But Elektra wasn't finished; she brought her hand back with equal force to nail the other side of his face with a backhand slap.

Her fury seemed to amuse the Game, and he laughed as he shoved Jericho's head between his thighs in preparation for the Pedigree. A wrenching of arms, a drop to the knees...and Jericho was driven face first into the mat.

Elektra got down on her knees, screaming at the now-unconscious Y2J: "Don't you _ever_ disrespect me again!" Triple H grabbed her arm and yanked her back up, pulling her against him. He bent down and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as the other members of Evolution circled the fallen Jericho, like hunters celebrating their kill.

* * *

Elektra sat on one of the wooden benches in the women's locker room, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. Her senses were dead to the world; occasionally, a movement, a sound would bring her out of her reverie, but for the most part, she remained lost in her own thoughts.

She could not even comprehend what she had just done to Jericho in the ring; what she had _let_ happen. Once she had nailed Jericho, it was as if a darker aspect of herself had taken over. She had reveled in the destruction. She had wanted to see him hurt, wanted to see him bleed. And the worst part was, when she saw Triple H delivering a Pedigree to an unconscious man, she never been more attracted to him. Despite what she'd tried to tell herself, the persona she'd adopted inside the ring had taken over, and even now, she wasn't sure that she was herself anymore. Could she really be two different people? Or would the dark side eventually take over and define her behavior inside _and_ outside the ring?

Elektra was aware of this pervading sound playing over her thoughts. She realized that someone was speaking to her.

"–And now you're ignoring me, which is just plain rude–"

Slowly, as though she was underwater, Elektra turned toward the source of the voice. Trish and Lita were glaring down at her. Before Elektra could even open her mouth, the blond Diva continued her rant.

"Where the _hell_ do you get off disrespecting me? Disrespecting Lita? You join Evolution, and now all of a sudden, you're too good for us?"

"Trish–" Elektra began, but Trish rushed right on without stopping.

"Take a good look at Leets and me, honey. Five championship wins between the two of us. And you've been here what? Five minutes?"

"Trish–"

"Just because you're fucking the World Heavyweight Champion doesn't mean that you're better than us–"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" Elektra flew to her feet, holding up her hands. "Stop it! Just stop talking!" Her outburst was enough to shock Trish into silence. "I don't think that I'm better than you. I have _never _thought that. As for what you heard in the ring...you're going to stand there and say that you've never been a different person in the ring than you are in the locker room? I was playing it up for the crowd. More importantly, _I was playing it up for Evolution_. Things go so much easier with Triple H if he assumes that I believe what he believes."

There was a long moment of silence, then Lita spoke. "So...what happened to Jericho... you were just playing it up for the crowd, too?"

Elektra squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep shaky breath. "_I don't know_ what happened to me out there. One minute, I was bragging and boasting, and the next minute, there's blood everywhere, and I'm enjoying it, enjoying the violence." She looked at both Divas. "I'm not proud of what I did. To tell you the truth, it scares the hell out of me. I _don't want_ to become that person."

"But what if you do?" Trish asked softly. "What if you keep telling yourself the same lie so many times that it becomes the truth? That's what power does to you...and–don't you get it?–you have _a lot_ of power. That's why I'm here yelling at you, because I'm hoping that maybe by knocking some sense into you, so that the day won't come when you stab me in the back." Elektra started to protest, but Trish continued talking. "Oh, it will come, eventually, if you stay with Evolution. And I don't want to lay awake at night wondering when the little rookie Diva I took under my wing suddenly became my worst enemy. I don't want to be your enemy, Elektra." She reached out, and grabbed Elektra's wrist. "Please, listen to me. Leave Evolution _now_, while you're still you. _Please_."

Elektra looked away. "It's too late...too late for me." She glanced back over at Trish. "But I promise you–I won't let Evolution turn me into an enemy."

"Famous last words," Lita said quietly, without sarcasm this time.


	7. Chapter 7: Romance at the Rumble

Chapter 7: Romance at the Rumble

The weeks dripped away like a stream of water: slowly at first, then faster and faster as she eventually fell into the rhythm of a wrestler's life. Each time that Evolution made an appearance, Elektra was right there with them, whether it be to hang on Triple H's arm, or to make sure that Flair and Batista won their tag team matches. And while she continued to behave like a vengeful bitch inside the ring, she tried to be herself (at least, what she _thought_ was herself) outside the ring. It was not as easy as she had originally thought. After what had happened to Jericho, everyone on the roster seemed to regard her with distrust. The other Divas tiptoed around her warily, as if something so simple as borrowing a tube of lipstick would spark some kind of unholy wrath. To them, a Superstar or Diva had two different personas only if someone told them to. And no one had told Elektra to be anybody other than Elektra.

If dealing with the constant undercurrent of fear running through the locker room wasn't enough, there was also her mixed bag of feelings regarding Dave Batista. The low blow had pretty much ended all pleasantries between them, as any shot below the belt is liable to do. He never looked her in the eye, and he almost never spoke to her. On the rare occasion that he did, he was always brusque, bordering on rude. When he behaved like this, Elektra could almost convince herself that he hated her, and that she should try to get over him. But whenever these thoughts came into her mind, he would do something that would totally contradict it. For instance, they could pass each other in a deserted hallway, with plenty of room to maneuver themselves around one another, yet he would always find a way to brush against her. Or he would happen to reach for something at the same time as her, and his hand would graze hers. Whenever this happened, Elektra had to stop and lean against something solid because the need in her was so intense that it made her weak.

She had yet to understand these conflicting feelings. Batista was nothing but rude and abrasive, yet one glance from him was enough to make her pulse race. On the other hand, whenever Triple H touched her, she felt nothing. The lust she felt for him in the beginning had slowly waned, and then disappeared altogether. Even though he was a good lover and had the power to make her body respond physically, it was simply an automatic response, like someone hitting her kneecap with a rubber hammer. No matter how good Triple H was, it couldn't change the fact that there was no tenderness in him, and whenever they were together, it was always about sex, never about love. Elektra feared and respected Triple H, but she didn't love him, and because of that, everything in their relationship, even sex, became just another thing that she had to endure.

Like right now, at the Royal Rumble. Elektra straddled the Game's lap while he kissed her neck, his mouth playing along the length of her collarbone. He had stripped off his shirt, and her hands were pressed against his bare chest. He gripped her upper arms so tightly that she knew she would have bruises the following morning.

Elektra had trained herself to think of sex with Triple H as just another wrestling match. She knew which sounds to make, which facial expressions to use, but it was simply a routine for show. Just an act that she put on while deep down inside, she prayed to feel something, anything, just so she wouldn't have to keep going through the motions.

She felt Triple H's lips slide along her skin until they found hers. She kissed him back with a passion that she did not feel. Tonight, she wore a black miniskirt slit up both sides, and a black top that was essentially two shoulder straps holding up two pieces of fabric. The top barely covered her breasts and was held together by a single strap fastened in front. It was this strap that the Game was fumbling for, trying to release the one catch that prevented him from removing the garment altogether.

Elektra was almost grateful to hear the locker room door open, but she didn't react. The last thing Triple H needed to know was that he did not have her full attention. Only when she heard Flair's protest ("Whoa, whoa, whoa, Champ! You've got a Last Man Standing Match tonight. You can't get weak in the knees _yet_!") did she pull away slowly. Draping her arms languidly around the Game's neck, she leaned her head into the curve of his shoulder, gazing lazily over at Flair.

Her eyes widened when she saw Batista standing right behind the Nature Boy. She shouldn't have been surprised; Batista and Flair were pretty much joined at the hip, but there was something about his expression...She couldn't tell if he was looking at her or Triple H, but there was undisguised jealousy burning in his dark eyes. Jealousy...and something like rage. Elektra could see a tiny muscle throbbing near his jaw, as though he were gritting his teeth. She had never seen this expression before, and it terrified her.

Almost like he had mentally switched gears, Triple H gently but bodily lifted Elektra off his lap onto a spot next to him on the bench. Stretching, he grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on, muscles rippling under black cotton. He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the lips, sliding one hand up along her inner thigh. Elektra smiled at him as he pulled back, but as soon as his back was turned, she focused her attention once again on Batista.

The Animal had gone back to his cubbyhole, but from the way he was banging things around, he wasn't happy. Triple H walked over to Batista, throwing an arm around his shoulders and turning him forcibly around to face the others. "Don't worry, Dave. After I go out there and destroy Michaels once and for all, and after Orton makes it an all-Evolution evening by winning the Royal Rumble, we are going to live it up in Philly tonight." He turned to Flair. "Ric, we gotta get Big Dave here a girl! We gotta get this man _laid_!" Both Triple H and Flair laughed uproariously. Batista smiled, but the expression looked forced and painful. Triple H stepped back and headed for the door. "I'm heading off to the trainer's to get taped. You two, watch out for her–" he pointed to Elektra. "–and make sure she doesn't do anything crazy. At least...not until later tonight." He smiled, and it spoke of dark intimate things, but then he was gone, and Elektra was alone with the Tag Team Champions.

Flair looked at Batista. "I'm gonna go round up Orton, and then the three of us are gonna have ourselves a little pre-Rumble celebration." He turned to Elektra. "Care to join us?"

Elektra smiled. Despite his many flaws, she had grown fond of the Nature Boy. His presence brought a sense of stability to the constant turbulence created by Evolution. "Thanks, but I spend enough time with the four of you as it is. The other Divas are starting to think that there must be another man besides Triple H that's keeping me anchored to Evolution."

Flair shrugged. "Well, it's your loss...and theirs." He walked out of the locker room, shutting the door behind him.

And leaving Elektra and Batista alone together.

For the first few minutes, there was nothing but awkward silence. Finally, Elektra attempted to fill the void. "So...how did your match go?" she asked, clearing her throat. God, she sounded like such a dork.

Batista looked at her, then down at the Tag Team Championship belt lying next to him, then back up at her. "What do you think?" he replied tersely, turning his attention back to his shelf.

Elektra closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She willed herself not to yell or scream or lose her cool, but it was getting harder and harder with this man around. "God...why are you always like this?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"Like what?" Batista didn't even turn around.

"You treat me like shit. It's as though you don't like me or something."

"Oh, really, I wonder why that is." Batista's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Elektra clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm. "Okay, I'm _sorry_ about the low blow. How many times do I have to say it? I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" Batista finally turned around, glaring at her. "Take a look at me and tell me what I could _possibly_ need protecting from."

Elektra took a step toward him. "From me." she whispered.

Batista shook his head. "Listen, if this metaphysical bullshit is your idea of an apology, you can stop right there. I don't need that crap right now, especially from you."

"Why won't you let me get close to you?" Elektra was practically screaming.

"_Because you're with Hunter_!" Batista was shouting. "Which is something that you don't seem to understand!" He seemed to be short of breath, and paused for a moment to compose himself. "I know you don't love him, but are you really so bored with him that you have to look to me for entertainment? How many other guys on the roster are you whoring yourself out to?"

"_There are no other guys_!" Elektra was livid now. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she would have a stroke. "In fact, the only guy I have a _problem _with is _you_!"

"Oh, really?" Batista retorted angrily. "And why's that?"

"_Because when you look at me, I want to die_!" Elektra practically spat out her last words. Her revelation hit Batista like a sledgehammer shot to the gut. The anger drained out of his face, and he looked confused, lost. Elektra didn't care; her emotions were too far gone to prevent her from stopping now. "I can't even think straight anymore, because all I see is you. And it's killing me, and I don't understand _why_. All I know is that being with you is _right_." She shook her head slowly. "But I still would have been able to choke it down, to hide it deep inside...except that I see the same need when I look in your eyes. You want to call me a whore? Fine. But you're a liar, and you're lying to everyone including yourself if you say that there's nothing between us." She stepped toward the door, then turned back one last time. "You want to know what my biggest mistake was?" She paused, tears beginning to blur her vision. "It was meeting Triple H instead of you." Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the door, tears gathering at her lower lashes and trickling down her cheeks.

She felt rather than heard the movement behind her. When Batista grabbed her wrist and pulled her back around, she didn't resist, but let her body go as limp as a rag doll. He pushed her back against the door. Elektra winced as her skull and spine connected with metal, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Batista didn't have to restrain her; his sheer mass pinned her against the door. Elektra felt trapped...and in her mouth, she tasted the sharp metallic tang of fear. She had pushed him too hard, and now he was going to make her pay for it. When she looked up into his face, she saw a mixture of pain and need and tenderness in his expression.

"Know what my biggest mistake was?" Batista's voice was raw with emotion. His eyes bored into hers. "Not doing this." Without another word, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.

For Elektra, it was as if the bottom had suddenly dropped out. Fireworks were exploding in her stomach. She was dreaming, she _had_ to be, because there was no way this could possibly be real. Batista pulled her against him roughly, tangling his hands in her hair, as he kissed her hungrily, his mouth moving across hers as though he could not get enough of the taste of her lips. Elektra slid her hands up his massive arms, then back to the solid expanse of his back. She had seen the enormous dragon tattoo countless times, but all she felt now was smooth warm skin, smelling of sweat and some undescribable male scent. His hands moved down her neck, across the width of her shoulders, down her arms to her waist. He wrapped his arms around her body, almost crushing her. For a moment, Elektra thought that her body would actually melt into his. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring her, tasting her. Time finally stopped, and all they had stretching out before them was blissful eternity.

When Elektra heard the voices, she tried to ignore them, praying that it was just two technicians swapping stories. But as the voices got louder, she could make out Flair's trademark drawl and Orton's deep melodious tone. She moaned with irritation, and reluctantly pulled away from Batista.

He released her, letting her back away from the door. From the expression on his face, he was obviously confused. "What's–"

"Orton." Elektra blurted out. She was having trouble catching her breath. "And Flair. I can hear them in the hall. If they come in, and see us like this–"

Batista held up a hand, shushing her. "I'll head them off." He paused. "What about you?"

Elektra shook her head. "I'll be fine. I just need to...catch my breath."

Something painful crossed Batista's face. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

Elektra stared at him incredulously. "No...no, nothing like that." She smiled. "You made the pain go away. But I need to sit down and convince myself that I'm not dreaming. Please, Dave, just go, before they get here.

It took her a few seconds to realize that, for the first time, she had called Batista by his first name.

Batista started to go, then turned back again. "I don't know about you," he added, his voice still thick with emotion. "But if this is a dream, then I don't want to wake up." He left before she could respond.

Elektra was all alone in the locker room. Slowly, she reached up and touched her lips, swollen from kissing. "Me neither." she whispered.

And then, her legs finally gave out, and she collapsed against a bench, hot tears pouring down her face as she sobbed quietly.


	8. Chapter 8: Advice from the Princess

Author's Note: I have to give another shout-out to the readers who have reviewed my story and given me such positive feedback. You guys are awesome! Keep reading and I'll keep writing!

* * *

Chapter 8: Advice from the Princess

Triple H did not come back to the locker room before his match. It was a good thing, too, since Elektra would have been hard-pressed to explain her tear-stained swollen face. Besides, the Game did not deal well with other people's emotions, especially tears. To him, tears were a sign of weakness.

Batista must have managed to keep Orton and Flair at bay, because none of them returned to the locker room, either. In a way, she was glad for that. At this point, she didn't think she put on her Evolution face for anybody, especially not Batista.

Elektra sighed. "God, what am I going to _do_?" she whispered to herself. The kiss between her and Batista had made everything so much clearer–and at the same time, made it all so much more complicated. How could she even remain with Triple H anymore, now that she was falling in–

"Stop." Elektra voiced the command, snatching the thought out of the air before it could even settle into her mind. Love didn't have a place in her world. The WWE was a glittering spectacle of sex and violence, but love–how could it even exist in this house of cards, in this world built on beautiful lies? And even love did exist, how could you ever hope to find it in this circus of carnality and blood?

Elektra tried to take her mind off her dilemma by focusing on more practical matters at hand: namely, how to make look as though she _hadn't_ been bawling her eyes out. She ripped up a packet of moist-naps that she always kept handy, and dabbed under her eyes. Her face was going to smell lemon-fresh, but that was preferable to puffy eyes. A little powder would hide the redness in her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, but there was nothing she could do about that. She had just begun to powder her nose when she heard the door open. Expecting to see the returning Evolution members, she was surprised when someone very different stepped through the doorway.

Stephanie McMahon was soon followed by a cameraman and a bored-looking young man holding a boom mike. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Elektra. "Just the person I was looking for. You, get back there behind the bench. I want an over-the-shoulder shot of the monitor." This last part was directed at the camera operator, who nodded and moved into position. He pointed the camera at Elektra, pressing various buttons.

Elektra looked hesitantly from him to Stephanie, by now very confused. "Wh-What's going on?"

Stephanie was scribbling something onto a notepad, and looked up distractedly. "What? Oh, yeah, Triple H's Last Man Standing match is going on right now, and I'm hoping to get some reaction shots of you watching the match. Hey, turn that monitor on." This was to the guy with the boom mike. Stephanie walked over to Elektra, peering at her appraisingly. "You already look like you've been crying. That's great; I thought I would have to ask you to squeeze a few tears out beforehand."

Elektra smiled weakly. _Oh, if you only knew..._

Stephanie stepped back. "Okay, you know the drill. We're not here, so just go whenever you're ready." Elektra did not ask any more questions. Stephanie McMahon was one of the few people she respected, and definitely someone she did not want to appear like an idiot in front of.

Stephanie was the reason that Elektra had been hired by World Wrestling Entertainment. A year ago, she had been just another wrestler on the indie circuit trying to follow her dream: traveling from small town to small town, sleeping in her car, living from potential paycheck to potential paycheck. Then, one day, she had gotten lucky. One of Stephanie's assistants happened to attend a show that Elektra was working. He mentioned something to his boss, and the next thing Elektra knew, she was contacted by the Billion Dollar Princess herself. Stephanie offered her a developmental deal with WWE, and Elektra hadn't looked back. A few months later, she was training at Ohio Valley, and now, she was a real WWE Diva. Elektra wondered how Stephanie felt about her now, since her first step in the WWE had been to hook up with the woman's ex-husband.

Elektra forced her mind to the present, and focused on the monitor. Almost immediately, her melancholy was replaced by horror. "Oh my God..." she whispered, staring at the screen in shock. She watched, speechless, as the Game hit Shawn Michaels across the spine with a steel chair. Michaels had been cut open, and he was bleeding profusely, his face the so-called "crimson mask". He could barely get to his feet. As for Triple H...the expression on his face was one of blank hatred, as though the object of his rage mattered not so much as the feeling itself. For the very first time, Elektra saw what the Game was really capable of, and also, saw the path that awaited her if she ever failed him. She began to dread that unknown day when he would turn that animosity on her.

Elektra pressed her hands over her mouth, willing herself not to scream. She didn't even realize that she was being filmed until she heard Stephanie say: "Good, that's a wrap. Did you get it?"

"Yep, we got the whole thing." That must be the cameraman.

"Great," Stephanie looked down at her notepad. "Now why don't you try and round up the rest of Evolution and get their thoughts on how the match is going?" Elektra heard the door open and close, followed by silence, and finally managed to draw in a strangled breath that sounded very much like a sob. Hearing a sound, she turned and realized that Stephanie had not left with the crew, but had merely shut the door behind them. The Billion Dollar Princess smiled at her, and it seemed to Elektra that there was a touch of bitterness in her smile.

"Any regrets yet?" she asked lightly.

Elektra shook her head. "I knew what I was getting into back when I was still at OVW."

Stephanie cocked her head to one side. "Did you? Because based on your expression a few minutes ago, I'm willing to bet money that you never expected this."

"Look," Elektra answered in an exasperated voice. "If you're going to give me the whole 'Evolution is an evil empire and get out while you still can' speech, don't bother. I've _heard_ it."

Stephanie snickered, her expression twisting into a wry smile. "Speech? There's a speech? No, don't worry, I'm not here for." She walked over and took a seat further down on the bench. "Me, I'm a big believer in the idea of living your own life. If you fuck up, it's unfortunate, but at least it's your life." She smirked. "Hell, if I had listened to half the things my father told me, my life wouldn't have been nearly as interesting." She turned her attention back to Elektra. "But all philosophical musings aside, what exactly drove you to chose my ex-husband?"

"You know the answer," Elektra replied quietly.

"Oh, that's right. 'Protection'. You were always very big on that, even in the beginning. Does it have anything to do with that little incident, the one that happened while you were on the indie circuit–"

Elektra stood up abruptly, walking over to the rows of shelves that lined the walls. "You should also know that I don't like talking about that." She leaned her head back against a shelf, crossing her arms over her chest.

Stephanie's face finally softened. She knew she'd hit a nerve. "You're right. I'm sorry." She leaned back a little and crossed her legs as she changed topics. "Did I ever tell you exactly why I signed you?" Elektra looked around. "It's not because you're beautiful, and it's not because you can wrestle. It's not even those eyes of yours. I brought you here because when I first saw you, I knew that you were a survivor. When you came out to the ring, with all that product in your hair and that kill-or-be-killed look on your face, I thought to myself, 'Now there's someone who could survive in this business.' And that's what we need here right now. We need those people who are willing to fight tooth and nail, to do whatever they have to to make it." She peered critically at Elektra. "But now I'm starting to wonder...is this obsession with being protected preventing you from being happy?"

"Okay, I have no idea where you're going with this." Elektra retorted, a little ruder than she'd intended. "I thought we were talking about survival here."

"You've already proven to me that you know how to survive." Stephanie answered. "What you haven't proven is that you know how to be happy. And you're not going to find that with Hunter, no matter what you think."

Elektra sighed impatiently."I thought we weren't going to have the 'down with Evolution' speech."

"We're not. Just keep listening. I'm worried about you because you've attached yourself to a man that doesn't love you. I'm worried that if you stay with Hunter, you'll let your heart die."

Elektra straightened up. "Look, my heart died back in that locker room in Reading." She stopped, tears coming to her eyes again. "God, why did you have to bring that up in the first place? Why are you forcing me to feel that pain again?"

"Because it's the pain that reminds us we're alive." Stephanie stood up. "Look, we all need to feel safe. It's human nature. But we also need to love, and in order to do that, sometimes we need to step out of that gilded cage."

Elektra leaned back again. "You talk about it like it's a simple thing. But we both know that it's not that simple. It's _never_ that simple."

"Maybe...but aren't facing challenges the point of being alive?" Elektra didn't have an answer for this. Stephanie stood up, stretching. "Well, might all well get back to the old grind." She turned to leaved, then looked back as though something had occured to her. "By the way, did you ever hear the story about Helen of Troy?" Elektra shook her head. "Well, they called her 'the face that launched a thousand ships'. Men fought a war over her."

"Your point being?" Elektra asked sarcastically.

"You're Helen, Elektra. You've got a face, not to mention eyes, that are extraordinary, even by WWE standards. Hunter may not love you, but trust me, there will be someone who does. And one day, you may wake up and suddenly realize that there's a war going on, and it's over you. So...you may have to make a decision about which is more important to you: protection...or love."

* * *

Elektra couldn't shake what Stephanie had said out of her mind. _Helen of Troy...You're Helen, Elektra...One day, there'll be a war over you_. In all her plots concerning Triple H, she had never once looked any farther than her own security. She had never stopped to consider the fact that she might be creating a situation bigger than both of them. Elektra had only wanted to be protected; she had never intended to start a war.

Or maybe her feelings for Batista had already started the war.

"It was nothing," Elektra whispered to herself. "Just a kiss." But ever as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that it was like saying the Biblical flood had been a small rainstorm. Kissing Batista had changed the complexion of everything. The question was: what was she going to do about it?

Elektra looked over at the monitor, at the motionless forms of Triple H and Michaels. She watched silently as the referee counted to ten, then motioned for the bell. And in that moment, she resigned herself to her fate. "What I've always done," she murmured in response to her own question. "Survive." Jumping to her feet, she ran out the door.

Elektra turned down what seemed like an endless amount of corridors, before finally arriving at the black curtain. Pausing only a few seconds to catch her breath, she pushed it aside, and ran down the Titantron, praying that she would not fall over her own feet in front of the entire city of Philadelphia. Up ahead, she could see the ring; its two prone competitors surrounded by trainers and medical personnel. Over in the far left corner, she saw a full head of white blond hair and the hulking form of Batista. She jumped up and slid awkwardly under the bottom rope, throwing an arm across her chest to keep her boobs from popping out of her top. Luckily, her skirt had enough give to keep it from sliding up her ass. She stumbled to her feet, and was immediately blocked by an EMT.

"You shouldn't be out here, miss," he told her politely, trying to hold onto her arms to keep her from pushing past.

Elektra wrenched herself free. "Let me go! I'm his _girlfriend_, for Christ's sake!" she screamed in his face. This startled him, allowing her to push him aside. Both Flair and Batista looked up, but Elektra didn't allow herself to look back at them. She focused all of her attention on the Game, at his exhausted bloody face, at the piece of gold and leather lying at his side that he had fought so hard to keep.

Flair moved to the side and she knelt by Triple H, pushing blood-saturated strands of hair back from his face. "Hunter, can you hear me?" Her fingers came away crimson, but she didn't care. "It's Elektra, baby. I'm here." She could feel Batista's eyes burning a hole in her, but she ignored him, _forced_ herself to. "It's all over, baby, it's all over." She bent over even further and put her lips next to the Game's ear. "You won, Hunter. You're the champ. It's over and you're still the champ."

Batista couldn't tear his eyes away from her as he watched her pour sweet words and praise into the ear of the unconscious Champion. If Triple had been awake, he would be giving Batista that familiar smug look. _She chose me, not you_...

The only outward thing that betrayed Batista's true feelings was a small muscle twitching near his jaw, but inside, the Animal roared with pain and jealousy.


	9. Chapter 9: Drawing the Line

**Author's Note: Just so I don't start getting any impatient emails, I _will_ be explaining what happened to Elektra in Reading in the near future. However, there's a few things I need to tell before I get to that part. Just bear with me and be patient: your questions will be answered. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Chapter 9: Drawing the Line

They wheeled the stretcher bearing Triple H back to the trainer's room, Elektra and Flair on one side, Batista and the EMT on the other. Flair was barking out instructions angrily: "Careful! Watch his head, dammit!" Batista stole glances at Elektra, but her attention was still fixed solely on the Game. She held one of his hands, and Triple H had regained enough consciousness to be able to grasp it. Ironically, because he was out of it, it was probably the most tender action he had ever shown her. She stepped back, allowing the stretcher to be wheeled into the room, then followed it in.

The trainer took one look at Elektra and turned to Flair. "Get her out of here."

"No..." Elektra protested, though in a much weaker voice than normal. "I have to be here. He needs me–"

The trainer continued talking to Flair as though she wasn't even there. "There's too many people in here already; plus, she doesn't need to watch him being stitched up. Get her out of here."

Flair turned back to Elektra. "He's right, honey. Go on back to the locker room; Dave or I will come get you when he's cleaned up."

Elektra shook her head, but it was more of an attempt to clear the dizziness from her head than a response to the negative. "I think I need to sit down..." she murmured. Flair didn't notice; he had already walked across the room to check on Triple H. Only Batista saw her stumble and lurch against the door frame as she walked out. It was several seconds before she pushed herself back upright. Her feet were barely lifting off the ground; she was practically dragging them across the floor.

Batista looked back toward the Game. Flair was busy haranguing the trainers about the way they were moving Triple H from the stretcher to the bed. The World Heavyweight Champion was muttering something about the headrest being elevated. No one noticed Batista slipping out the door after Elektra.

* * *

Everything suddenly seemed too bright, too loud, too violent. The tiniest sounds were being magnified a hundred times and echoing in her ears. The entire universe seemed to be pressing down on her. Elektra was at once caught between the sensations of the present and the memories of the past, memories that Stephanie McMahon had unwittingly dragged up out of her subconscious. Elektra wasn't sure where she was. Was it now or was it then? Was this a spacious hallway in Phillie, or a grimy little high school locker room in Reading that may or may not even exist anymore? More importantly, who was she? Was she the confident WWE Diva on the arm of the World Heavyweight Champion, or was she a scared and confused teenager all over again?

Elektra felt the peculiar sensation of being drunk; that strange state of swimming through consciousness. It seemed like hard work just putting one foot in front of the other. Elektra turned a corner, staggered a few more paces, and slumped against the wall. The cool concrete on her cheek seemed to be the only thing that was real.

"I can't do this anymore," she heard a voice say. It took her a few moments to realize that the voice was her own. "I don't want it. It's too big."

"What is?" That voice was definitely not hers. Elektra rolled rather than turned, using the wall as a support. Batista was staring at her with concern in his eyes.

Before Elektra could stop herself, the words were pouring out of her mouth like verbal diarrhea. "I always planned on being with Triple H. You...you were just a _mistake_. A stupid _mistake_." She shook her head again, like she was arguing with herself. "But if that's true, then why can't I stop thinking about you? I haven't feel anything even remotely like this for six years; but something about _you_ makes my heart ache. What makes you so goddamn special?"

Batista didn't say anything. His expression hadn't changed, even though he must be hurting from the comments being hurled at him like crudely constructed missiles. Finally, he took a few careful steps toward her. "I think that you need to sit down. Give me your hand, I'll take you back–"

"No, I will not sit down." Elektra interrupted, spitting out her statement with a slurred preciseness. "No, what I'm going to do is take a deep breath, and walk back in that room and hold Triple H's hand while I tell him how wonderful he is. And eventually, he'll wake up, and he'll kiss me and touch me–" This time, Batista did flinch, but Elektra didn't seem to notice "–and the whole time, I might as well be _doing laundry_ because _nothing happens_ inside when he puts his hands on me. It doesn't matter that he's _the Game_; I've been dead inside for the last six years." She finally took a step, and it felt like hell. She was definitely staggering now; trying to reclaim some semblance of balance on a pair of three-inch heels. "So answer this for me, Batista, because I still can't." She forced herself upright and looked him directly in the eye. "Why does being around you make me want to feel again?"

That was the last thing she remembered before blacking out.

Batista quickly stepped forward and caught her against his chest with one arm. Bending down, he put the other behind her knees and scooped her up effortlessly. Cradling her unconscious body in his arms, he carried her back to the trainer's room. Flair was still fussing over Triple H, who was now being stitched back up.

"Hey, Ric," When Ric looked up, Batista motioned his head down at the limp figure in his arms.

Flair rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. "_Jesus Christ_, not her, too! It's the last thing we need right now...All right, just take her back to the locker room and put her on the couch or something." He turned back to Triple H. "Jesus, Hunter, did you _have_ to pick one who faints at the sight of blood?"

Luckily, by then, Batista was already gone.

* * *

The other Superstars didn't say anything, but gave him funny looks as he passed by. Batista ignored all of them. He really didn't care what any of them thought in the first place. The only thing he cared about right now was the precious bundle cradled in his arms. She seemed to weigh next to nothing.

He carefully pushed open the locker room door with his shoulder before stepping inside and kicking it shut behind him. He walked over to the long black leather couch against one wall and laid her down gently, taking care to prop her head up on the armrest. Tenderly, he brushed back a few strands of hair that had caught on her mouth. Batista reached out to touch her again, but stopped himself. He just couldn't, not when she was out of it. He would have given anything to hold her in his arms again, to hear that soft moan in her throat and know that she was his. But he wasn't about to take liberties just because he had the opportunity.

Batista pulled up a chair and sat down, waiting for her to regain consciousness. He rested his chin on his knuckles, mulling over what Elektra had said back in the hall. The things she had told him...yes, they hurt, but what struck him more than her words was the rasp of raw pain in her voice. It was as if a deeply buried emotional scar had suddenly been ripped open and left to bleed out into her mind.

_I've been dead inside for the past six years..._He realized suddenly that he knew next to nothing about her. It had never occurred to him that she too had had a life before the WWE, that she too gone through different struggles to get to where she was today. And in her case...that she had suffered, and that her suffering still resonated in her life years later.

He didn't doubt that part of her misery was due to the indifference of Triple H. She claimed that she didn't care about Triple H, but regardless, the way he treated her must still eat away at her. Batista knew that it irked him, watching the Game treat the woman in his life with such disrespect. Triple H had done nothing to deserve her, ignored her half the time, and yet she stuck by his side. Batista didn't know whether it was because she had to or she wanted to, but he suspected that the two reasons were synonymous in Elektra's mind. And all he could do was stand by helplessly and watch the unhappiness in her eyes grow from day to day. Batista wanted desperately to stave off that unhappiness, but what could he do for her? How could you save a person who didn't want to be saved?

Elektra's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. "That symbol...on your arm...what does it mean?"

Batista looked up, startled. Elektra had opened her eyes and was staring directly at him. Her eyes were like two twin beams of silver, but they were calm, not the burning sparks of light he had seen out in the hall. He quickly realized that she was referred to the tattoo on his right bicep. Batista passed his hand over the skin of his arm, as though discovering its presence for the first time. "Oh...it's, uh, it's a Kanji character. It means "soldier"."

Elektra smiled, a small thin version of the real thing. "Ahhh...how very apt, for you." She closed her eyes, as if that tiny effort had tired her, then opened them again. "Batista...the things I said out there...I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Batista's calm response surprised even himself. "I know...I know you didn't mean them."

Elektra shook her head slowly. "That's the problem: I think I kinda did." She pushed her body up into a sitting position. "But I didn't mean them to sound the way they did. I didn't mean to sound so mean." She looked away, off into the distance. "You know that I can't leave Hunter."

Batista looked down at his hands, feeling an icy sensation in the pit of his stomach. "I had a feeling you'd say that." He looked back up. "You know that he doesn't love you."

Elektra smiled wryly. "I've known that from the very first day." She pulled her knees under her. "Listen, if I leave him now, everything that he's worked for: Evolution, his title, his power..._everything_ will disintegrate."

Batista made a small noise of disbelief. "No offense, but aren't you giving yourself a lot of credit? You really think that the future of Evolution hinges on your loyalty?"

Elektra stared at him again. There was something piercing about her gaze. "Yes...if I leave him for you." This statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds. "He's jealous of you." As this, Batista's mouth fell open in disbelief. Elektra continued. "He never says it outright...but I know that he thinks it...and if I go with you, it'll be the realization of all his fears."

"What if I told you that I didn't care about that?" Batista asked. "What if I told you that I could give it all up?"

"You can't," Elektra answered simply. "You believe in Evolution too much, just like me. You have too much invested in it. You need it as much as I do. No matter how we feel about each other, we aren't brave enough to give up that ideal."

"And you?" Batista replied pointedly. "I know my reasons for staying with Evolution, but what about yours? What could possibly be worth putting up with the way that Hunter treats you?"

Elektra looked off into the distance again, at some memory that he couldn't see, maybe would never know. A small tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away absently. "Because here I'm safe." she finally said. "Here, no one..." She faltered, but recovered herself. "_No one _can hurt me."

Batista looked at her closely, marveling at how she at once let out her emotions and yet kept them close to her chest. "What happened six years ago?" he asked point-blank. "What happened to make you dead inside?"

Elektra looked at him, more tears starting to gather in her eyes, making them even more silver. "Batista...there are things in my life that I would rather forget...black spots that I'd like to excise from my mind. All I can promise you now is that I'll tell you someday, but not today." She stretched her legs out again. "I don't think I have the strength to relive that again."

Batista leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So here's the million dollar question..." He paused. "Where do we go from here?"

This was followed by a long minute of silence. Finally, Elektra seemed to collect herself and spoke: "I know that we can't be together, but I don't want to go back to being your enemy. Is there some way that we can find a middle ground?" She looked at him, and her expression was almost pleading. "I want you in my life, even if it's only as a friend. I want to get to know you." She looked at him expectantly.

All of Batista's instincts were telling him to say no. Being friends...it was a compromise, and a poor one at that. The temptation would always be there, and now that they knew how they felt about one another, being friendly would make that temptation harder and harder to resist. Friends...it was just a form of mental masturbation. But it was better than the alternative.

"I'd like that, too," he answered. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Batista spoke again. "Can you ask you something?"

Elektra smiled, and this time, it was the real thing. "Of course."

Batista looked over at the closed door, then back at her. "What we talk about in here...it doesn't leave this room, correct?" Elektra nodded. "Good." He stood up, flexing the muscles in his biceps. "Because I have a few things to discuss about being friends."

"Shoot." Was Elektra's voice just a little huskier than usual or was that his imagination?

Batista looked down at her, his face still serious. "So, I'm guessing that, _as friends_, there are certain lines between us."

"Naturally." Elektra answered. She blushed as Batista stared at her with that piercing, clothing-stripping gaze. His eyes drifted downward, focusing on the single black strap on the front of her top, and just beneath it, the exposed curves of her breasts. A wave of heat swept through her body.

"And, _as friends_," Batista continued, his eyes flicking back up to her face. "those lines shouldn't be crossed."

"Go on," Elektra replied, her voice thick. She felt wetness between her legs and blushed even harder.

"So, I guess that, what I'm asking is–" Batista broke off his sentence abruptly and walked the two feet to the couch. He knelt on the sofa, putting his right knee between her legs. He reached down, put his hands on her waist, and without any effort, pulled her up to her knees, molding her body against his. Elektra didn't resist; didn't even try. He was hard; she could feel him pressing against her thigh. His hands were on her waist, his mouth was against her ear. Just the feeling of his breath of her skin was intoxicating. Then he spoke, and it drove everything else from her mind. "Where do we draw the line?"

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His movements were slow, deliberate. He was holding himself back this time. But Elektra wasn't. Now she was the one to close the space between them, pressing her mouth ferociously against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning deep in her throat. His tongue invaded her mouth, and this time, she met it with her own. Batista's hands traveled down her body, caressing her thighs and sliding up under her skirt to grip her ass. He pulled her even closer into the curve of his body, growling softly.

Elektra finally forgot about the Rumble, forgot about Triple H, forgot about the promises they had just made, and let herself go, giving in to the sheer pleasure of kissing Dave Batista.

So it was no surprise that her heart skipped a beat and her blood turned to icy when she heard a voice say, "Well, isn't this cozy?"

* * *

For a moment, Elektra actually thought that she was going to drop dead from the inevitable heart attack. But when the moment passed and her heart resumed its rhythmic beating, she realized that she was still living, still a part of this reality. Her mental processes kicked in enough to inform her that the owner of the voice was female, not male, and very familiar. Almost afraid to look, she turned her head (the only part of her body still able to move) toward the door.

Both Lita and Trish were frozen in place, with nearly identical expressions of incredulous disbelief on their faces, complete with open mouths. One could hardly blame them; they had probably not anticipated walking in on a near-pornographic tableau. Trish was blinking very hard, as though by doing so, she could erase what she was seeing. Lita, however, was bringing her eyebrows together in a little frown.

Slowly, acting as though this happened every day, Batista and Elektra disentangled themselves; Batista returning to his chair; Elektra standing up and smoothing down the edges of her skirt.

"We, ah..." Trish tried desperately to sound casual. "We heard you keeled ov–"

"Elektra, a word, _outside_, _now_." Lita was brief and to the point.

Elektra nodded wordlessly. As she walked toward the door, Batista started to rise. Without looking at him directly, she motioned for him to stay seated. "It's okay, Dave. I'll be back in a second."

As soon as she was out the door, Lita grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her, actually _shook her_. "Are you fucking _nuts_?" she whispered loudly. "You're already with Triple H, arguably the most evil bastard in this business, and _you're messing around with Dave Batista_?"

"It's not what you think–" Elektra protested.

"Oh, so that _wasn't_ the Animal we saw shoving his tongue down your throat?" Trish interjected. "You know, at first, I thought you were stupid, then I thought you were crazy. Now, I think you must have some kind of death wish."

"If Triple H had walked in, you would have been fucking dead." Lita added. "Not just in trouble, but _dead_."

"Listen to me!" Elektra entreated. For once, the other two Diva took her advice and shut their mouths. "What you saw in there...that was the end of it. All we're going to be from now on is friends. This won't be a problem, I _promise_."

"Looked like the beginning of something, if you ask me." Trish muttered to no one in particular. Lita, on the other hand, focused her gaze on the dark-haired Diva.

"This is all going to blow up in your face one day." she stated flatly. For once, Elektra couldn't think of a good enough reason to disagree with her.

They never spoke about that particular incident again, but looking back in retrospect, Elektra often wondered if it in fact marked the moment when their friendship began to deteriorate.


	10. Chapter 10: Enter Randy Orton

Chapter 10: Enter Randy Orton

Elektra stretched her muscles, already cramped from the hour-plus trip between Philadelphia and Hershey. She leaned back against her pillow, trying to find someway to nap without having the sun beating down on her face. Even with her sunglasses, the rays were still too bright to allow her to sleep. She rolled over on her side, bunching up the waistline of her knee-high skirt in the process. Elektra suppressed a grunt of irritation, and instead tried to rotate the garment back around to its original position without providing a peep show to the rest of the car.

She sensed eyes on her, and looked up to see Orton turned around in his seat, staring at her. Though his sunglasses hid his eyes from her view, she could tell by the suggestion of a leer on his face that he was enjoying himself at her expense.

"Geez, Randy, could you come off as even more of a pervert?" Elektra asked icily, pulling herself up into a sitting position and making sure to keep her legs tightly closed.

Randy smiled, that arrogant demeaning smile that he flashed so often in the ring. "What do you care? You're a Diva; you must be used to men ogling your goodies by now."

Behind the wheel, Batista rolled his eyes as he maneuvered the car down the busy highway. Traveling with Orton and Elektra was like riding in a car with two siblings who hated each other. The pair had developed a natural antagonism almost immediately after her introduction into Evolution, and more often than not, they were at each other's throats. Like right now.

Elektra gritted her teeth, trying to quell the urge to break the Legend Killer's nose. "When guys check me out in the ring, that's one thing. But when some jerk-off tries to look up my skirt when I'm taking a nap...that's something else."

"Yeah," Orton replied. "It's called foreplay."

Elektra looked at him incredulously. "You are _unbelievable_. Do I have to remind you that the man I'm seeing is not only your leader, but also your World Heavyweight Champion?"

Orton shrugged, as if this was merely a formality. "Maybe...but I'm still the Intercontinental Champion, and currently the highest-ranking Champion in this vehicle. That must entitle me to something."

Elektra sighed, grabbing her IPod off the seat. "Go to hell, Randy."

Orton's smile faded and his expression was suddenly filled with contempt. "You know, you're a lot prettier with your mouth shut."

"Oh, grow up," Elektra retorted. "At least I didn't get the crap kicked out of me at the Rumble last night by _Mick Foley_."

At the mention of Foley's name, Orton's features twisted with rage. "Bitch." he spat.

"Dick." Elektra shot back.

"Slut."

"Asshole."

And then, Orton went too far. "_Cunt_." he muttered, but loud enough for the entire car to hear.

At the mention of the dreaded C-word, it was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the car. Elektra's irritation exploded into full-blown wrath. "You _fucker_!" she whispered between gritted teeth. She lunged for him, but was thrown back against the seat as Batista suddenly swung the car off the road, cutting off an SUV in the process. The shrill beep of its horn filled Elektra's ears as her head snapped back sharply, hitting the seat cushion. Orton's face collided with the headrest, his sunglasses breaking with a loud CRACK. Batista slammed on the brake, and everyone was thrown forward. Elektra nearly rolled into the space between the front and back seats; Orton discovered how it felt to have the back of your skull hit a windshield. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence as the two eventually realized that they were going to live.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_, Dave," Orton yelled. He seemed more surprised than hurt. "What the hell are you doing? You could have killed us–"

His words were cut off when Batista turned and grabbed him by the collar. The Animal yanked Orton toward him, nearly strangling the Legend Killer with his own seatbelt in the process. When Batista spoke, his words were clipped and cold.

"Watch your fucking mouth." he said in a quiet voice filled with malice. "I don't give a shit about what you do in your free time, but if I ever, _ever_ hear you using that kind of language with _her_–" He nodded back at Elektra. "–or another Diva, or, hell, with any female anywhere...I will put your goddamn head through a wall."

Orton pulled free. "Geez, Dave, when did you become so politically correct?"

Batista's expression didn't change. "You want me to practice with that car window first?"

Orton seemed like he was actually considering the idea for a second or two, but then he leaned back, the familiar arrogance crossing his features. "What can I say? I just don't trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die."

"Hey, fuck you, Randy!" Elektra yelled from the back seat as she slowly pulled herself back up.

Batista jabbed a finger in Orton's face. "_You_...shut up...and _you_–" He twisted around and pointed at Elektra as well. "–learn how to ignore him. You know it just eggs him on when you get mad." Batista looked from one to the other, measuring each of them with his gaze. "I swear to God, if I have to stop this car again, it won't be pretty–for _either _of you. Understood?"

There were a few moments of petulant silence, then a sullen chorus of "_Yes_..." from Orton and Elektra.

"Good." Batista turned back to the steering wheel, put the car into drive, and pulled back out on the highway. As they sped along, he glanced into the rearview mirror. Elektra had stretched herself back out across the seat, her eyes closed. She shifted slightly, lifting one of her legs to cross it over the other and revealing just a glimpse of inner thigh. She didn't seem to realize this time that Batista was watching her. Or maybe she did. But what neither of them knew was that Orton was staring at her as well.

* * *

Elektra hoisted herself onto one of the black equipment crates stacked in the hallways and inserted her IPod earphones into her ears. Scrolling through the menu, she selected one of her old standbys–Rob Zombie–and leaned back, bracing herself on her hands. Normally, before Monday Night Raw, she would be in the Evolution locker room, listening to strategies for the evening and giving Triple H the right..._encouragement_...before he went out to the ring. But now, after the episode between her and Orton earlier that day, she didn't feel the same sense of safety that Evolution normally evoked. No, now she didn't felt safe around Orton.

As heavy metal riffs echoed in her brain, she mentally revisited the fight between her and the Legend Killer. It wasn't necessarily what he had said (though she hated being the recipient of the C-word as much as any other self-respecting female) that had made her so uneasy; it was how he said it. There had been real malice in his voice as he spat those words at her, and she began to wonder if Orton's feelings for her were nothing but hate. Hate...and something else.

Two weeks ago, he had cornered her in the Evolution locker room, crowding her up against the shelves and flashing that confident smile of his. Leaning close, he had made her what could best be described as an indecent proposal: one night with him, anything goes. No one would ever know, he assured her in that slimy way of his, _especially _not Triple H.

Elektra's response had been to laugh in his face. There was _nothing_ in the world he could possibly offer, she replied condescendingly, that would make her want to lower herself to his level. The look that had come over Orton's face still made her shudder, and she was almost positive that if Batista hadn't returned to the locker room at that moment, Randy would have killed her.

It didn't matter what type of assurances Orton made; Elektra knew too well that any intimacies between them would come with strings attached. Orton was just as ruthless as Triple H, and he was willing to use anything and anyone, including his fellow Evolution members, to reach that coveted top spot on the Raw roster. If she slept with him, it would mean that he would always have some kind of power over her; a tortuous secret to make her do his bidding. In her dangerous position, Elektra could not afford to give that kind of leverage to anyone, especially to Randy. She feared what Triple H would do to her, but she feared just as much what Orton was capable of doing to her.

But the worst, the absolute worst, was that Elektra feared some part of her wanted Orton as much as he wanted her. It wasn't anything like what she felt for Batista; no, these feelings must lurk deep in her subconscious, deep within that dark place she was loath to return to. It was this same darkness that had once reveled in the destruction of Chris Jericho. Randy Orton was evil, Elektra was almost sure of it. So if what she feared was true, and lust for the Legend Killer _did_ exist within the dark corners of her mind, what kind of darkness was she capable of?

Thankfully, her disturbing train of thought was interrupted by a familiar but unexpected voice: the mournful hound-dog tones of the Hardcore Legend, Mick Foley.

"Excuse me," he was saying to her. "But would the First Lady of Evolution happen to know where that little jack-off Randy Orton would be?"

Elektra pulled the earphones out of her ears, smiling at the stocky individual with his mop of curly brown hair. "Tragically, unfortunately...no. But I am flattered by the title."

Foley smiled in return, exposing the gaps where teeth had once resided. "Well, despite my deep hatred for Triple H and the rest of Evolution, I've come to regard you as its single ray of sunshine."

Elektra pressed her hand to her heart, truly touched by the simple compliment. "That's so sweet." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone that I told you...but I happen to know that the little jack-off is going to be saying a few choice things about you in the ring tonight."

Foley touched his thumb and forefinger to his temple as though doffing an imaginary hat. "Much obliged." And faster than she would have suspected for a man of his build, he was down the hall and gone.

Elektra had just plugged her earphones back in when she heard angry footsteps coming from the opposite direction. Randy Orton stormed around the corner, his GQ-worthy face twisted with rage. As soon as he spotted her, his eyes lit up, as though he had finally found a suitable target for his rage. Elektra felt the pit of her stomach drop, but she kept her face calm. A few quick strides and Randy was right in her face, bellowing: "Where is he? Where's that _bum_, Foley?"

Elektra didn't flinch, didn't blink; merely leaned back a few inches. "_Personal space, please_."

Orton moved back, but his body language was still tense. "They told me he went down this hallway. _Where is he_?"

Elektra could hear him perfectly, but just to mess with him, she carefully pulled out her earphones one by one. "Once more, with feeling."

Randy leaned in again, his face a few inches from hers. "Did...you...see...Foley?"

Elektra nodded, as if this was obvious. "Of course."

Randy smiled, though it was only a half-smile and did little to alleviate the terrifying expression on his face. "Where is he, then?"

Elektra stared back into his face, looking a lot calmer than she felt. "I don't know." she stated slowly, enunciating each word.

Something passed over Orton's face like a shadow, a kind of dark realization. "You do know, don't you? You're just not going to tell me."

Elektra could feel her heart pounding, but she tried to tell herself that Orton was a bully and all she had to do was stand up to him for once to make it stop. "No, I'm not." She abruptly pushed herself off the trunk onto the floor.

"And why not?" Orton's voice was calm, way too calm. Elektra could almost see the storm clouds brewing, but she forced herself to respond anyway. _He's just a bully, he's just a bully..._

"Because he's _polite_," she retorted, brushing past Orton. "And because he doesn't treat me like a blow-up doll. But don't feel bad," she added as she started to make her way down the hall. "There's going to be lots of things that I won't bother to share with you."

She had walked barely ten steps before strong hands clamped around her throat and she was thrown bodily against the adjacent wall. Her skull met cinderblock with a sickening SMACK and the only thing she could see for a few seconds were bright dots of color. She couldn't scream; she barely even breathe. All she could do was gasp helplessly for air as Orton shoved his face into hers, an expression of crazed anger on his face.

"You little bitch, you think this is some kind of game?" he snarled, his voice low enough for only her to hear. The hallway was quiet, devoid of any nearby voices. No one would be able to hear her unless she screamed, and Orton had made that impossible. She grabbed helplessly at his hands, trying to peel them back from her neck, but his grip was as powerful as iron. "Don't you get it? Foley is the _enemy_ and this is _Evolution_. You are either with us or you're against us."

"I've _always_ been on Evolution's side!" Elektra spat out between gasps. "It just pisses you off that I'm not with _you_!"

Orton's response was to tighten his grip and lift her up even higher. Now Elektra was almost off the ground; she had to balance on her toes to keep herself from choking. Orton leaned in close, his face still angry but now mixed with a sick desire. "Why are you so uptight, anyway?" he murmured. "What's the matter, not getting enough _satisfaction_ from the Game? Maybe Hunter isn't man enough for you. Maybe what you need is a _real_ Champion..." He pressed closer, his lips grazing her temple. Elektra felt him growing hard against her leg, and wanted to throw up.

"You?" Her voice was incredulous and full of revulsion. "You're disgusting...and you're pathetic." Even though she was terrified, she forced herself to stare into his eyes with disdain. "I only fuck men, Randy...not little boys."

Orton pulled back and she saw the rage building up in his eyes again. He was ready to snap. Elektra knew what he was thinking. "Go ahead. Do it." she whispered. "Hit me. You know that you want to." Orton hesitated, but Elektra pressed on. "Go on and hit me, you _fucker_, and try explaining _that_ one to Hunter!"

For an instant, Orton's hands tightened ever so slightly around her neck, then he abruptly released his grip and stepped back. Elektra collapsed to her hands and knees, coughing and sucking in air. Orton towered over her, staring down at her form without pity. "Someday, he's going to get tired of you, and I'll be the only person you can turn to."

Elektra looked up defiantly, still clutching her bruised neck. "I would rather die than let you touch me." she retorted.

Orton smiled, and it was the most chilling thing she had ever seen. "Be careful what you wish for." What had Lita said? _There was nothing there...nothing to make you think he's anything resembling a human being..._ Well, she was witnessing it firsthand.

Elektra looked away rather than continue to stare into those lifeless eyes. She felt Orton's hand caress her hair gently, tenderly, then grab a handful and pull back not so gently. Elektra closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. Hot tears squeezed out from beneath her closed lids. All she could hear was the sound of Orton's voice, as cold and terrifying as Death itself. "Just remember this, Elektra..._things change_."

He let go and Elektra fell into a limp head on the floor. His footsteps faded away, but she remained motionless for a few more minutes, just to make sure that he was really and truly gone. As soon as she pulled herself to her knees again, the nausea returned and she pitched forward.

This time, she did throw up.

Once her stomach was finished emptying itself of its contents, she staggered to her feet, using the trunk as a support, and tried to rid her mouth of the hot sour taste of bile and the icy tang of fear.


	11. Chapter 11: Some Wounds Never Heal

Chapter 11: Some Wounds Never Heal

Triple H stormed into the hotel room, hurling his precious trophy of gold and leather onto the bed. "That son of a bitch! That goddamn _Canadian_ son of a bitch!" he raved.

Elektra knew that at times like this, it was better to let the Game run his course rather than try and interrupt him. If you interrupted, you ran the risk of having a water glass thrown at your head. She listened to the World Heavyweight Champion's rant while continuing to brush her hair. "Who the _hell_ does Benoit think he is, anyway? Coming onto _my_ show, challenging me to _my_ title, and acting like he's hot shit just because he won the Royal Rumble." Triple H paced back and forth. "I won the Royal Rumble after being out of action for almost a year. What do I have to show for it? The World Heavyweight Championship. Benoit gets shoved into the Rumble at the last second, and what does he have to show for it? Nothing except some bumps and bruises and a whole lot of Canadian ego."

Elektra chose that moment to exit the bathroom, fully expecting to see a glass airborne at her. She walked over to Triple H, placing her hand lightly on his arm, feeling the bicep muscle beneath his suit jacket. "Now, baby, calm down. Remember who you're talking about here. I mean, it's _Chris Benoit_. After 18 years of wrestling, he still has nothing to show for it while you, _you_, are an eight-time World Heavyweight Champion." She walked a slow circle around Triple H, letting her hand trail over his body as she talked. "Let's be honest: Benoit can't win the big one. We know it, the fans know it, and deep down, Benoit knows it. Now all you have to do is show him." She pressed against the Game, tiptoeing up so that her mouth was only an inch or two away from his. "Show him why you're the king of _Monday Night Raw_." She stressed the last three words, letting her voice drop down to a husky whisper. She could hear Triple H's breathing become just a little bit heavier. Elektra smiled and stepped back. "Now, why don't you just relax–" She put both hands on the Game's chest and pushed gently. He let her, falling back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Elektra climbed onto his lap, her long legs straddling his. She draped her arms around his neck, her mouth up against his ear. "–and forget all about Chris Benoit." she murmured.

Without speaking, Triple H grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over onto her back. Now he was the one straddling her. He studied her for a few seconds, touching her face and running his hand down the length of her body. His fingers grazed lightly over the juncture between her legs, and for a moment, Elektra though that she would have to fake it this early in the act. But the Game was obviously not planning to dole out pleasure tonight unless he was getting some of his own at the same time. He leaned down and kissed the line of her jaw, near her ear, and Elektra steeled herself mentally for what was destined to follow. But what came out of Triple H's mouth instead shocked her:

"I heard that you and Orton had a little run-in tonight."

Elektra couldn't prevent her body from stiffening at the mere mention of Orton's name. Just the thought of what he had done, what he _could_ have done back in that hallway made her sick with fear. "Is _that_ what he's calling it?" she replied tersely. "Because most people I know would call that attempted rape."

The Game chuckled lightly. "Careful, babe, that word is likely to get you in trouble around here."

Elektra was fuming inside. She couldn't believe that Triple H was making this out to be no big deal. "That _asshole_ threw me up against a wall and tried to strangle me, and _you're_ concerned about my choice of wording? _Orton could have killed me, Hunter_. If I were you, I'd put a muzzle on that mad dog of yours."

"Hey," the Game responded. "I didn't say it was right, and believe me, Orton _will_ be dealt with. I'll see to it personally. But right now, there's a few things I need to clarify for you." He dipped his head back down, sliding his lips down the curve of her neck. Trailing a line of kisses to her shoulder, he slid off one of her thin tank top straps. "You know," Triple H continued, moving across to the hollow of her throat. "I started Evolution to show the world the future of this business." He slowly slid off her other strap. "But in order to do that, we all need to play nice with one another. So, even though you may _dislike_ Orton, the next time he wants to play–" With one deft movement, Triple H tugged her tank top down around her waist, letting his hands travel over the curves of her bare upper body. "–I suggest you let him." he finished.

Elektra blinked, sure that she must have been hallucinating. "_Excuse me_? You can't be serious." She searched the Game's face for some indication that he had been joking, but there was no such sign. Enraged, she pushed at his shoulders, trying to get out from under him. "Get off me! Get the _fuck_ off me!"

Triple H obliged, rolling over onto his side. Surprise was written all across his face. "Was it something I said?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Hunter!" Elektra snapped, getting to her feet and yanking her top back up. "How _dare_ you! After what he did to me...you want me to play _nice_ with him?" She stormed into the bathroom, grabbing toiletries with both hands while she talked. "I have done anything and everything that you have asked me to do for the sake of Evolution. But I will not, _will not_, cozy up to that _psychopath_ just so you can keep morale high!" Coming back into the room, she lifted up her suitcase lid and hurled everything inside.

Triple H watched all of this with raised eyebrows. "Going somewhere?" he asked jokingly.

Elektra wanted to strangle him. After all she had just said, he still thought she was only kidding. Well, time to show him how serious he was. She fumbled for her purse, and located her cell phone. Pulling it out, she flipped it open and began scrolling through the menu screens. "Trish and Lita are staying at this hotel. I'm calling one of them and seeing if I can room with them tonight."

"Wait, wait, _wait_!" In a flash, Triple H was off the bed and kneeling down beside her. He put his hands over hers, closing the cell phone back up. "Hold on, babe. I didn't know you were _serious_." Still covering her hands with his own, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Let's not be too hasty about this. I mean, do you really want to walk out on Evolution just because of a few things that Orton told you? Do you have any idea what that would do to us? To me?" He rested his cheek against her hair, his mouth next to her ear. "It doesn't have to be like this. What can I do to make it up to you?"

Emotionally, Elektra was between a rock and a hard place. Triple H did not get it; probably never would get it. He was more concerned about what her departure would mean for Evolution than he was about her. Deep down, a part of her was saying to leave now while she had the chance. But it was a very small part, battling a firmly ingrained belief: that she was safest with Evolution. Elektra had made enough enemies during her short time here to make her fear the possibility of being on her own.

Besides, would she even be able to talk to Batista again? To even see him? The thought of creating a situation in which they would be adversaries was unbearable to her. That, even more than her desire for security, resigned her to making amends with Triple H.

She turned her head, pulling back enough so that she could look the Game in the eye. "You'll talk to Orton." It was more of a statement than a question.

Triple H smiled, apparently relieved that she would not be leaving Evolution. "I'll speak with him tomorrow. Trust me."

"I'm serious, Hunter," Elektra insisted. "I don't want him bothering me _again_. Understand?"

Triple H chuckled. "Calm down, will you? I said I'd take care of it."

_Which means nothing..._Elektra thought to herself, but she kept quiet. She knew that what the Game had said had been partially true, at least for her: in order to survive in the WWE, she would have to play nice with Triple H. But for how long?

Elektra finally let herself smile at the Game, though inwardly, she was filled with a cold sick uncertainty of what the future might bring. "I knew there was a reason I liked you best." It was amazing how normal her voice sounded.

Triple H pulled her back against him, his hands traveling from her waist to other intimate areas. "Now...what was it you were saying about forgetting?" he murmured.

* * *

Elektra waited until Triple H's breathing became deep and even before slowly sliding out of bed. Fortunately for her, the Game had never been a fan of cuddling, so she didn't have to worry about extricating herself from his arms. Having laid awake for some time, her eyes were already well adjusted to the darkness, so she had no trouble dressing herself. Grabbing her coat off a chair, she opened the door a crack and froze, waiting to see if the soft noise had woken Triple H. When she saw that he hadn't moved, she slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

She thought that she had been nearly silent, but she had only walked a few feet when she heard a door open behind her. Elektra spun around, an excuse ready on her lips, but it wasn't Triple H standing behind her, it was Batista leaned against the doorframe of his own room, clad only in a pair of black sweatpants. He peered at her sleepily. "Where're you going?"

Elektra didn't speak at first; she was unable to tear her eyes away from the well-defined ridges of his chest and abdomen, from the sunburst tattoo surrounding his naval. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, she managed to stammer: "Out for a walk." The words flowed out from her mouth naturally before she could even think to stop them. "Want to join me?"

For a few moments, Batista was silent, then he finally spoke up: "Sure. Just let me throw some clothes on."

* * *

Batista glanced over at Elektra, studying the play of shadows and light across her face. Under the glare of streetlamps, with her hair pulled back and no makeup on, she looked nothing like the exotic WWE Diva that accompanied him or Flair or Triple H down to the ring; the Diva who wasn't afraid to get involved in a match-up. But that didn't make her any less beautiful. If anything, Batista was even more attracted to her. Seeing her now, in this light, she looked so far removed from the wrestling world and what she really was: arm candy for the World Heavyweight Champion.

Staring at her, he thought about what she had told him last night, and more importantly, what she hadn't told him. Maybe here, on this quiet street, far from the prying eyes of cameras or Evolution, she could finally tell him what had crippled her spirit all those years ago. Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try.

"Elektra?" She stopped and turned toward him. Her eyes were almost colorless in the glow of the streetlights. Then she stepped into a patch of shadow, and they returned to normal. Batista tried to find a way to ask the impossible. How could he possibly ask her to rip a wound back open? "I want to ask you something, and I know you're not going to want to tell me the answer."

Elektra's face turned pale, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Either way, she suddenly seemed even more vulnerable. But then she seemed to draw strength from somewhere inside herself, and returned to normal. "All right, I'll tell you, but first, let's sit down."

There was a bench nearby, under a pool of yellow-white light. They both sat down. Batista turned toward her, resting his arm on the back of the bench behind her. Elektra faced straight ahead, staring at nothing. Maybe she was looking at the past. But then, the spell was broken, and she turned toward him as she spoke.

"Six years ago..." She hesitated, looking down for a moment. She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. Without saying a word, Batista put his hand on her shoulder, as though he could somehow transfer his strength to her. However silly this seemed, it must have worked because Elektra regained her composure and looked back up. "Six years ago...I was raped."

Her voice was calm, steady, belying none of the nervousness she must feel. "I had just started working the indie circuit. I was nineteen, barely out of high school, traveling from town to town, doing anything I could to do to help with a show and learning how to wrestle from anyone who was willing to teach me." She broke off her monologue, staring away into the distance again. "There was one guy...a wrestler. He'd been working the circuit for a few years when I showed up, and when we met, something just..._clicked_. One night, he asked me to wait for him after a show, said he was going to teach me a few moves before they tore the ring down. I was waiting in the locker room...and I remember now just how _quiet_ everything seemed. I mean, I couldn't hear people or cars or anything. Just this hum of silence. And I didn't even realize he was there until I hear the sound of the door locking." Her voice changed, quavered slightly as she continued to backpedal through memories. "I looked up and he just came at me...knocked me down. I tried to scream...but he hit me...and I was so surprised...I mean, no one had _ever _hit me like that before, not even in the ring. I tried to struggle, but he just hit me over and over until I finally stopped and just let him finish."

She stopped, crossing both arms over her abdomen and bending forward as though in pain. Batista wanted desperately to put his arms around her, to comfort her in some way, but she straightened back up again. When she spoke again, her voice sounded detached, almost cold. "After it was done, he told me that if I tried to tell anyone, he'd kill me. Then he laughed, he _laughed_, and said that even if I did, no one would believe me anyway." She looked at Batista. "I was a lot more..._wild_...in those days, you see, and there would always be those few who would say that I just led him on." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. "What could I do? I was still basically a teenager, I had no money, my parents were hundreds of miles away. I didn't really have any friends in the business at that point; I traveled alone, and despite my wayward nature, I kept to myself. Who could I turn to?" She smiled, but it was bitter and brittle. "I went to a clinic, had myself treated and tested, and then I went back out on the road. I didn't call the police, I didn't tell anyone, not even my parents. I just pretended that it didn't happen, and eventually, I started to believe it. But you can't forget something like that, not without a price."

She stopped, and took a deep breath. "I used to have a boyfriend, you know. At that time, we had been going out for almost two and a half years. He was supportive of me, understood that this was what I wanted to do. But after..._it_...happened, I couldn't connect with him anymore. It was like all of my emotions had shut down. I used to dread whenever we were together because no matter what he did, it couldn't arouse any spark of emotion or passion in me." Again the bitter smile. "I got used to faking it, but eventually, I got tired of faking it, and just left. It took him about a month to stop calling, and another two months to stop contacting me altogether."

Elektra paused for breath again. She couldn't believe she was sharing all of this with someone she barely knew, but at the same time, she was glad to finally be able to tell _someone_. "I always told myself that maybe if I'd had friends to look out for me, he wouldn't have targeted me. That if I'd had someone to protect me, it wouldn't have happened. So when I went back out on the road, I started making friends with everyone I met, trying to be part of one group or another just so I'd have backup...in case he'd ever show up again." She paused to cover her face with her hands, slowly bringing them down under her chin. "Stephanie McMahon saved my life, you know. She's the one who signed me to WWE in the first place, who enrolled me in OVW. If she hadn't pulled me out of the indies, I don't know what what would have happened to me. Once I was at Ohio Valley, I began learning all I could, but I always kept my eye on WWE, knowing that if I was lucky, I'd get to go there. But I also knew that the WWE is just a bigger pool of sharks. So I watched both brands religiously, keeping my eye out for powerful tag teams or factions. Anyone who would be willing to have my back should trouble arise. Then, one day, I got the call, found out I was going to Raw, and lo and behold, there was a dominant new group on Raw, who called themselves Evolution and were headed by none other than Triple H himself. I arrived on the night of Armageddon, and you know the rest." Elektra finally leaned back, seemingly exhausted by the tale. "So now you know...now you know why I'm here...and why being around you has me so confused."

Batista felt overwhelmed. He'd had no idea that Elektra had experienced such suffering, and that she had managed to overcome it in order to fulfill her dream. Everything about her that had ever seemed conflicting–her calculating nature, her cold heart in the ring, her loyalty to Triple H despite his indifference–all suddenly made sense. Batista looked at the young woman next to him, damaged but not broken, wounded inside but not yet dead. He felt a stirring of pity, but also of admiration and feeling. He may have been the Animal, but between the two of them, she was the stronger one.

He spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I-I had no idea..." As soon as he said it, he felt an idiot. Well, of course he'd had no idea. Elektra had never shared even a hint of what she had just told him until yesterday.

"Dave..." Elektra reached out, and touched his face, resting her palm against his cheek. Batista reached up and placed his hand gently over hers. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me. It was a horrible thing, but I survived. _I'm alive_, and I'm here, and I'm not leaving. It's finally over." Her voice broke, and she almost lost her composure. _Almost_. "At least, I thought it was..." she whispered, her voice shaking.

Batista looked up instantly, his expression furrowing in concern. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Elektra stared back at him, and suddenly began crying, her body shaking with sobs. "It's happening all over again..." she managed to say before breaking down completely.

Batista grabbed her and pulled her close, murmuring words of comfort, trying to tell her that he was there, that he would always be there. Through her tears, Elektra told him about Orton and what had transpired in the hallway, ending with Triple H's laissez-faire approach to the whole situation.

"–And he says that he'll _deal with it_, which really means that he'll do nothing," Elektra gasped out between sobs. "All he cares about is Evolution. I nearly get assaulted and it's his little Legend Killer that he's worried about. Never mind the fact that I have to start looking over my shoulder all over again. Never mind that I have Orton to fear now. I joined Evolution so that I would be protected. I never thought I'd have to be protected from Evolution."

Batista gritted his teeth in anger, wanting to break Orton in half for what he had done. "I'll kill him..." he whispered.

Elektra pulled back, her eyes wide and teary. "Oh, no, don't, please!" she pleaded. Batista could only stare at her, confused. She tried to explain. "If you interfere, it'll only cause trouble."

"But if there's the chance he could do this to you again–" Batista began.

"Orton is a power-hungry little shit who is willing to walk over anybody to reach the top." Elektra interrupted. She seemed to have regained some of her old anger. "He seems to have developed some sick obsession with me in his mind. He does _not_ need to know that you have feelings for me. If he does...he'll use it to turn Triple H against you, or worse, _me_." She reached up and gently held his face in her hands. "I don't want him to take away the one good thing I've found since I've been here."

Batista looked into her eyes, his anger subsiding. She was right, of course, but still... "If he touches you again, I'll rip his arms off," he replied. He reached up and touched her cheek, wiping away the tears. "I'll always protect you," he whispered. "No matter what."

For a few minutes, there was nothing but silence between them. Finally, Batista was the one to break it. "I know that you asked me not to..." he began. "But I seriously want to kiss you right now."

Elektra didn't respond at first, but then the familiar smile touched her lips. "I won't tell Hunter if you won't." she answered.

Batista leaned in and gently pressed his mouth against hers, wrapping his arms around her protectively. Elektra leaned into him, letting her hand slide back to the nape of his neck as she kissed him back.

They embraced under the hazy glow of a streetlamp, knowing that despite what life had done to separate them, they would always have each other.


	12. Chapter 12: Corrupt the Innocent

**Author's Note: Some of you may be wondering why I'm suddenly moving so far ahead in time. Well, my reason is that (in the world of the story, of course!) nothing happens between the Royal Rumble and Vengeance, so I figured it would be easier to skip ahead rather than spend a lot of time BS-ing about nothing. Hopefully, you won't be disappointed.**

**Also, a HUGE shout-out to my awesome critics! You people are wonderful, and if it wasn't for your comments, this story might have fallen to the wayside a while back. I cannot say this enough: Thank you so much!**

* * *

Chapter 12: Corrupt the Innocent

Six months later, two weeks to Vengeance

Elektra pounded on the ring with both hands. "Get up, Randy!" she screamed, trying to will some life back into the Legend Killer. Orton pushed himself to his hands and knees, attempting to shake off the effects of the Lionsault.

Secretly, Elektra thought the whole thing was a lost cause. Jericho was dominating the match, the crowd was solidly behind Y2J, and quite frankly, she could have cared less if Orton lost his Intercontinental Championship tonight. In fact, she would have loved to watch him lose. But, as always, she had to keep up appearances; had to show Triple H that she was a team player. And unfortunately, that meant acting as cheerleader to Randy the Douchbag.

Surprisingly true to his word, the Game had "dealt" with Orton, and since then, the Legend Killer had kept his hands off her. He still treated her with a thinly veiled contempt, but at least there had been no more repeats of the hallway incident. Still, this didn't mean that Elektra felt safe around him. If anything, she made a point of staying in crowded areas, far away from the deserted side hallways she used to frequent. She was not about to test Orton's self-control by putting herself in a situation where they would be alone together.

As for Triple H...Elektra sighed. Ever since he had lost his title at Wrestlemania, he had become almost impossible to be around. Gone was the confident champion she had originally aligned herself with. In his place was a man obsessed with achieving glory. All he ever talked about anymore was the World Heavyweight Title and how he was going to win it back. After a failed attempt at Backlash and an incident with Shawn Michaels that had left him out of the title hunt at Bad Blood, Triple H was determined to achieve success at Vengeance. As far as she knew, Bischoff had yet to award the number-one contender's spot to anyone. But then again, you never quite knew with Bischoff...

And then there was Batista. Even now, in the middle of a match, Elektra couldn't help but smile when she thought about him. Just as she had asked, he kept her at arm's length, but only physically. Emotionally, they were closer than ever, an unexpected closeness born out of the impossibility of a physical relationship. With him, Elektra slowly began talking about her life, about her days on the indie circuit (good and bad), and with each new scrap of information she shared, she knit her soul to his more and more completely. It was no secret in the locker room that, although Elektra went to bed with Triple H, Batista was the one she was closest to.

The Game never seemed to perceive him as a threat. If anything, the idea of Evolution's Animal and Elektra together seemed to utterly baffle him. Even if Elektra was looking elsewhere, she couldn't possibly be looking at Dave Batista. After all, she couldn't be screwing someone right under his own nose, because he would know. Elektra knew of this perception, and saw no reason to dissuade him, because she understood the consequences that awaited her if she got caught.

If only her relationships with the rest of the Raw roster had flourished so favorably. The rest of the Divas regarded her as an alien creature, one who would say hello to you in the locker room, but slam your face into the apron in the ring. It didn't help that she spent most of her time in the company of a six-foot-five Animal. She could just see the other Divas sizing him up every time they saw him, wondering when they'd have to worry about Batista being the difference maker in one of their matches.

Her relationship with Lita and Trish had suffered the most. Trish had become the Women's Championship a month before, and ever since then, she viewed Elektra with distrust, perhaps knowing that if the sole female member of Evolution ever wanted a title shot, there would be very little she could do to prevent it. And as for Lita...well, she had a few problems of her own, namely a seven-foot-tall beast known as Kane who stalked her constantly and who had actually managed to impregnate her through an act of coercion. Elektra would see Lita in the hallway sometimes, never quite knowing what to say, but wondering which of the two of them was in the worst situation.

Well, it was probably a toss-up between Kane and Randy Orton for Pervert of the Year, Elektra thought as she forced herself back to the present. If it were up to her, she'd just lock them both in a cage and let them battle it out.

Behind her, an unruly fan managed to make himself heard. "Hey, Elektra, do you suck Randy off once you're done with Triple H?"

Elektra whirled around, locating the culprit, an unimposing teenage boy wearing a backwards baseball cap and a Hurricane t-shirt. "_Shut up_!" she growled, fixing him with a steely look.

The teen stared transfixed at her eyes, practically glowing in the bright light, and decided that today would not be a good day to test that theory about whether or not WWE Superstars actually attacked fans.

Elektra turned back to the ring, rolling her eyes. There was one in every arena, even more in her case. She didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed by the fans' belief that she was doling out attention to Orton as well as Triple H. If they only knew the truth...She turned back to the ring just in time to see Orton locked in the Walls of Jericho.

"No!" she shrieked, even though her personal radar was barely registering concern. Jericho had pulled Orton out to the center of the ring, squatting down and cinching in the hold even more. Orton was flailing his arms around, his face a portrait of agony. He looked at Elektra for assistance, his eyes pleading with her. Elektra just stared back at him calmly, letting her own eyes do the talking. _Tough shit, asshole..._

Suddenly, a huge figure loomed on the other side of the ring. Batista. Elektra had not even seen him come down to the ring. The Animal climbed up onto the apron, yelling smack at Jericho. Y2J released the hold and stormed toward Batista, obviously not happy that his approaching victory had been interrupted. The two of them argued for a few moments, then Jericho arched his body up into the air, executing a perfect drop kick that caught Batista right in the face. The Animal was knocked backwards, slamming into the barricade spine first.

"_Dave_!" Elektra screamed, uttering his name before she could even think to check herself. Her first instinct was to run around the ring to check on him, but no, she was supposed to be here for Orton. She would have to remain here until this match reached some kind of conclusion.

Jericho was still at the ropes, probably yelling a few more choice words at the injured Batista, when Orton pulled himself to his feet, still a little unsteady after being locked in the Walls of Jericho. Before Y2J had a chance to turn around, Orton crept under behind him and looped an arm between his legs, flipping him over backward and pinning him with an Oklahoma roll. Out of the referee's sight, he placed his feet on the bottom rope for leverage, and Elektra held them down, as though this had been part of the plan all along. The referee, seeing shoulders down, counted 1...2...3. The crowd erupted in a cacophony of jeers and boos, almost drowning out Lillian Garcia's proclamation: "The winner and _still_ the Intercontinental Champion..._Randy Orton_!"

Orton, on shaky legs, grabbed his title belt and rolled out of the ring. Jericho was still chasing the referee around the ring, holding up his fingers and pleading that it had been a two-count, not a three. He finally stopped and looked back at Orton, who was now joined by Batista and Elektra and holding his coveted trophy up high. Batista raised Orton's other arm in victory, while Elektra patted him on the back, pretending that mere contact with him didn't make her want to vomit. The three of them walked backwards up the Titantron, hurling a few more insults back at Y2J. Jericho seemed to have some of his own, and he was directing the majority of his venom at Batista. To all the world, they seemed like loyal Evolution members supporting their wounded compatriot.

This tableau changed as soon as they were safely behind the black curtain. Elektra immediately backed away from Orton, wiping her hands off on her skirt as if the simple act of touching him could somehow infect her as well.

Orton's expression changed too, twisting into a snarl of contempt and hatred that was normally reserved only for Elektra. "What the hell happened out there?" he demanded. "You were supposed to watch my back!"

"What did you want me to do?" Elektra argued. "You think I'm stupid enough to mess with Chris Jericho after what I did to him?"

Orton continued his rant. "I'm in agony, I look over, and you're standing there staring at me like nothing's happening. But all of a sudden, Dave here gets kicked in the face, and you're all _concerned_."

"Hey, man," Batista interrupted quietly. "Leave it alone, all right?"

Orton didn't seem to hear. "I'm the longest running Intercontinental Champion in the last seven years. Do you have any idea what that even means?"

"Yeah," Elektra retorted. "It means you're still a dick."

Orton suddenly closed the remaining distance between them and grabbed her arm. Elektra looked up at him furiously. "Get your goddamn hands off me." she whispered through gritted teeth.

"Or what?" Orton's voice was just as low and menacing. "You'll rat me out to Hunter again?" He leaned closer. "You think I was kidding about what I said back then?"

"Hey, _hey_!" Batista stepped in, prying the Legend Killer's hand off of Elektra's arm. "Watch it. Let's all try and get along for once." He pointed at Randy. "Don't think I'm not watching you. Keep your hands off her or I'll tell Hunter myself."

Randy smiled arrogantly. "What's the matter, Dave? Don't like the way I treat my women?"

Batista stared him down. "I don't like _you_, period. And last time I checked, she wasn't _your woman_." For a few minutes, the men stood there, measuring each other up. Finally, Orton smiled again, and turned away.

"Whatever. _I'm_ heading back to the locker room." He walked off, displaying his gold proudly on his shoulder.

Batista turned to Elektra, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Elektra nodded. "Yeah...He won't try anything when there's people around. It's only when we're alone that I get worried."

Batista looked off in the direction Orton had gone. "Well, I'm going to follow him just to make sure he _does_ head to the locker room and not back here, okay?"

"Okay," Elektra smiled, briefly placing her hand over his. "I'll be there in a bit." Batista smiled in return, then headed off after Orton. Elektra stood there for a while, trying to calm herself. Just being around Orton had the potential to supremely piss her off, and now was no exception. Just the thought that after six months, he still harbored such feelings of animosity toward her scared her, and as she had in the past, she wondered how the situation would have played out if Batista hadn't been there to step in.

Storming down the hall, she was so distracted by her thoughts that she turned a corner and ran smack into a white, red and blue clad figure.

Eugene staggered back a few steps, jamming two fingers into his mouth nervously. "Uh-oh..." he stammered, his head darted back and forth like a bird, topped with that bushy mound of brown hair. "Uh-oh...I'm s-sorry, Eh-lek-tra."

Elektra smiled at Eric Bischoff's nephew. The Raw roster was pretty much divided as to who liked Eugene and who didn't, but Elektra was the only member of Evolution who was squarely on the liking side. There was something very sweet and endearing about Eugene, and he seemed enamored of her, but that was probably true of him and most of the other WWE Divas. Elektra worried about him sometimes though, because he was so guileless. She felt that his genuine honesty and sweetness wouldn't allow him to survive in this world based on deceit and backstabbing, so she looked out for him whenever she could. Especially since Triple H had now taken a 'special interest' in Eugene...

Eugene was staring at her face, cocking his head to one side as though he had just discovered a shiny object. "Your–your–your eyes are pretty," he blurted out.

Elektra patted him lightly on the arm. "Thank you, Eugene. That's sweet of you to say."

"D-Does Tri-ple H tell you that your eyes are pretty?"

Elektra's smile faded just a touch. "Sometimes he does...when he's in a good mood."

Eugene puffed up his chest proudly. "He was in a good mood last week," he boasted. "He told me that...he wanted to be my friend."

Elektra knew for a fact that Triple H's personal opinion of Eugene extended to referring to him as Special Ed in the privacy of the Evolution locker room, but she kept it to herself. How could she explain hypocrisy to someone who didn't know the meaning of the word? "That's good, Eugene. It's a good thing that he wants to be your friend."

"Uncle Eric told me–" Eugene paused, slapping his head repeatedly with his hand, either trying to remember what to say or how to say it. He finally continued, holding his tongue between his teeth to concentrate. "Uncle Eric says that Tri-ple H wants to tell me something in the ring, in front of _everyone_. And all of Evolution's gonna be there too. Are _you_ gonna be there too?" This last part was directed at Elektra. Eugene was staring at her inquisitively or maybe he was just distracted by her eyes again.

"Yes, Eugene, I'll be there too," Elektra managed to say. The cheeriness in her voice sounded forced to her own ears. Her mind was already racing with dread. "Could you excuse me, please?" She hurried off before Eugene could say anything else.

* * *

She arrived at the Evolution locker room just in time to hear Triple H bragging: "See, _that's_ what I'm talking about, Ric. Evolution is _all about_ teamwork. One of us is in trouble, BOOM! There's someone there to help him out." He noticed Elektra standing in the doorway, and his face lit up. "Speak of the devil." The Game gestured to one of the benches. "Randy here has been complaining that you're not showing enough _concern_ for his well-being out there."

"Yeah, well, Randy can kiss my ass," Elektra retorted. "Look, Hunter, I need to speak with you. _Alone_."

"Oh, _Jesus_!" Orton complained. "Does this mean we have to go stand in the hall again?"

Triple H broke into laughter, but it never reached his eyes. He continued staring at Elektra as he spoke. "You heard her, guys. Clear out for a couple minutes." With the majority of grumbling coming from Orton, the three remaining members of Evolution filed out into the hall. As soon as the door closed behind them, the Game walked over and looped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "That doesn't give us much time, but I'm sure we can come up with _something_." He leaned down to kiss her ear.

Elektra slowly pushed herself away. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't come here for _that_." She stared up into Triple H's eyes. "I just heard that you're going to make an announcement regarding Eugene, in the middle of the ring, in front of everyone." She took a step backward. "Hunter, I don't know what you're planning, but–"

The Game sighed, as if her behavior was just another example of feminine hysteria. "Why do you always assume that I'm _planning something_?" he interrupted impatiently.

"Hunter, this isn't a screwball comedy where everything turns out okay in the end!" Elektra exclaimed. "This is the WWE, and whenever _you_ plan something, _someone_ gets hurt." She stepped back toward the Game, pressing herself against him. "Look, whatever you've got, leave Eugene out of it. He's _innocent_; he's never done anything to anyone. He doesn't belong in Evolution's business."

Triple H's calm expression suddenly became cold and foreboding. "Fine. You want the real truth." He leaned down close to her ear. "Eugene's Uncle Eric offered me the number-one contender's spot at Vengeance...if I _take care_ of his nephew."

Elektra felt her blood turn to ice. "'Take care?'" she repeated.

"You know, take him out for ice cream after his match, take him to the playground–" The Game's voice turned chilly again. "What do you think? I'm _ending his fucking career_."

Elektra stepped back, full of horror now. "W-why? What has Eugene ever done to you?" she asked, feeling her throat start to close up.

Triple H smiled at her, but it was full of menace. "It's the World Heavyweight Championship, babe. Do you think I really care what happens to one little retard?"

Elektra felt tears spring to her eyes. "Please, don't..." she whispered. "Don't hurt him. I'll do anything you want if you leave him alone."

The Game raised his eyebrows questioningly. "_Anything_? No offense, babe, but like I said, it's the _World Heavyweight Championship_. What could you possibly offer to top that?"

Elektra stepped back even more, and without saying another word, tugged at the string that held up the top part of her black dress. The garment fell to her waist. Triple H eyed her naked upper body appreciatively, then looked back up at her with a sneer. "Nice...but nothing I haven't seen before."

"Anything goes." Elektra's voice was calm and steady, with only the slightest quaver to betray her emotions. "Whatever you want...no limitations."

The Game looked back at her as he mentally considered her offer. Finally, he stepped toward her, closing the space between them. "Well, with such a tempting offer on the table, how could I possibly refuse?" he murmured.

* * *

Elektra stumbled down the hall, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but at the same time, not really caring. The memory of what Triple H had done to her in that locker room invaded her mind; made her feel dirty, contaminated. This was even worse than the memory of the rape. Worse because she had been a willing participant in the degradation.

And it had all been for naught. After it was over, as she crouched on the floor trying to pulling her dress back up over her body, Triple H had towered over her. In a mocking voice, he told her that it was nice of her to show her commitment to an ideal, but did she really think that she could make him forget about the World Heavyweight title? _You don't even come close, babe..._

The things he had said to Eugene out in the ring...Elektra wanted to block them out just as much. He had toyed with Eugene the way a cat plays with its prey, calling Chris Benoit a liar, saying that the Champion had only pretended to be Eugene's friend, that he had _meant_ to hit Eugene with that chair the previous week. He concluded by making Eugene an "honorary member" of Evolution, whatever that meant. Elektra had stood there next to the Game and felt sick. Eugene was obviously already confused, and didn't have the strength to withstand mind games. And there was no one on Raw who excelled more at mind games than Triple H. Eugene had never had a chance.

Now, as she neared the locker room, she heard voices talking. They soon distinguished themselves into those of Triple H and Flair. Elektra reached the door, which was ajar, and looked in. The Game had his back to her, and was trying to calm down Flair, who was apparently still adamantly opposed to the idea of befriending Eugene.

"You're gonna bring _Eugene_ into Evolution? My God, it'll kill our gimmick, brother!"

"Hey," Triple H said soothingly. "Eugene is gonna help us win back the World Heavyweight Title. And once that's done, Eugene will have outlived his usefulness."

There was a moment of silence, then Flair spoke up again. "But what're you going to do about Elektra? She treats that nut like her little brother; she's never going to let you use Eugene for any type of plan, no matter what the prize."

The Game chuckled. "Don't worry about her, Ric. I've already taken care of that." He lowered his voice. "When I get done with her tonight, she won't be a problem _anymore_."


	13. Chapter 13: The Price of Betrayal

Chapter 13: The Price of Betrayal

Elektra clapped her hand over her mouth, but she couldn't prevent a horrified gasp from escaping her lips. Startled, both men looked aover to see her standing in the doorway.

"So this is how it ends," Elektra whispered. She pushed the door open all the way and walked slowly up to Triple H. "You can't make me see things your way, so you just get rid of me, the way you get rid of all your other little problems." She looked defiantly up at the Game, not really caring what the consequences were. "At least tell me how you're going to do it. You owe me that much."

The puzzled expression on Triple H's face threw her slightly off balance, but she still refused to back down. It might be a ruse to get her to weaken before he crushed her, and she wasn't going down without a fight. "Babe, what are you talking about? Is this _The Godfather_ or something?" He looked over at Flair. "Ric, I'm guessing that she hasn't heard the good news yet."

Flair shook his head, his face bemused. "Probably explains why she's treating us like a couple of characters on _The Sopranos_."

The Game turned back to her, his features relaxing into an easy-going smile. "You know about the number-one contender's match for the Women's Championship that was scheduled for Vengeance? Victoria versus Molly Holly?" Elektra nodded slowly, wondering where exactly he was going with this. "Well, Bischoff told me a little while ago that he's cancelling the match."

Elektra was shocked. "What? Why?"

Triple raised his eyebrows. "Seems he's already found a number-one contender." Elektra looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reveal the name, but both he and Flair simply stared at her, smiling. Elektra felt a weird cold realization dawn on her. "Wait a minute...you mean me?" Both men nodded eagerly.

Elektra couldn't describe the exact emotion that she felt upon hearing the news. On the one hand, she was elated. No matter what role a Diva in the WWE chooses to play (be it wrestler, valet, or professional girlfriend), she always hopes for a chance to wrestle for the Women's Championship. But at the same time, Elektra knew that such a huge opportunity could not have come without an equally huge price. It was this wariness that won out in the end, and she asked slowly. "Why? Why me, all of a sudden?"

Triple H sighed, as though the answer were obvious. "Babe, how many times do I have to tell you? You're a part of Evolution. You're part of the best, so you deserve the best. Besides, think how good we'll look walking down the Titantron; the only couple on Monday Night Raw with his-and-her title belts?" Elektra couldn't think of a quick response to this. The Game turned to Flair. "Look, Ric, she's speechless." He chuckled. "Listen, Flair, there's a few things that Elektra and I need to discuss, so could you excuse us for a few minutes?"

Flair nodded and headed for the doorway. As soon as the door shut behind him, Triple H's expression twisted into something ugly and unrecognizable. He grabbed Elektra by the hair, yanking her back against him, and covering her mouth with his free hand. "Don't even try to scream," he whispered into her ear. "Flair's halfway down the hall by now, and besides, he'd think you were screaming for an entirely different reason." He slowly removed his hand, and as directed, Elektra kept her mouth closed. She didn't want to think about what Triple H might do to her if she tried to scream for help. "Now listen up and listen good, you little bitch," the Game snarled. "Obviously, something like this doesn't come for free. It took a long time to convince Eric that it was in his best interest to give the number one contender's spot to a rookie. I finally told him that if he did, it would _guarantee_ Eugene's departure from Monday Night Raw." Elektra felt her blood run cold. So this was what it was about. Triple H had said that Eugene would help him get back the World Heavyweight title; it seemed that he was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that happened. Including bribing her.

"So," the Game continued in that same menacing tone. "If you want to hang onto that title shot, you'll do what I say and keep your mouth shut. That means you don't say anything to Eugene, you don't say anything to Chris Benoit...hell, not even a word to those other sluts in the women's locker room. If I hear that you uttered even one syllable about what I'm planning to do, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life." He reached up again, softly caressing her throat. In any other situation, it would have been a sign of tenderness. But Elektra understood the veiled threat beneath the gentle touch.

"Of course, if you still don't see things my way; if you still want to play the hero, go right ahead." His hand tightened around her neck. "And while you're at it...you can kiss your professional career goodbye. Breathe a word of this to _anyone _and I'll make sure that you _never_ get a title shot as I'm here." He chuckled again. "And I plan on being here a long, _long_ time. Hell, you'll be lucky if you ever set foot in a wrestling ring again. Oh, but don't worry about your job; you won't be fired." His hand slid down to her breast. "I have..._other uses_...for you." Images of that horrible degrading encounter flashed in her mind, and Elektra felt bile rise in her throat. "So, what's it gonna be, babe? Are you going to do the right thing...or the smart thing?"

Elektra couldn't speak. Tears formed beneath her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks. How could she make a choice like this? How could this even be considered a choice? Sure, she still had the chance to do the right thing...but at the expense of everything she had worked for. Elektra wondered vaguely if this was how Judas must have felt when he had been offered those thirty pieces of silver.

Triple H gave her hair another hard tug, forcing her head back even further. "Time's running out, babe. I told Bischoff I'd have a decision before the show ended. What's your answer?"

Elektra swallowed hard, trying to sound strong despite the huge lump in her throat. "What do you think?" she whispered hoarsely. "Have I _always _done the smart thing when it comes to you?"

She couldn't see the Game's face, but she knew that he must be smiling triumphantly. He abruptly released her hair, and she slumped down onto a bench. "Thatagirl," he murmured. "I'll go tell Bischoff the good news."

"_I hate you_." Elektra spat, not even bothering to look up.

Triple H shrugged nonchalantly. "You'll get over it." He walked out the door and was gone. As soon as she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, Elektra burst into tears. She collapsed on the bench, sobbing and wailing miserably, beating her fists against the wood.

Outside the locker room, the Game listened to the sounds of her misery, an expression of genuine pleasure spreading across his face.

* * *

It took Elektra almost twenty minutes to calm down and pull herself back together. By the time she headed down to the women's locker room to pack up her things, news about the new number-one contender had spread throughout the roster. When she walked in, the other Divas were having a powwow in the far corner. Trish was in the midst of it all, talking excitedly and gesturing with both hands. They didn't appear to notice that Elektra was even there, so she moved to her cubbyhole and began packing as quickly and quietly as possible. If even one person spotted her, it would only lead to trouble.

"But why would Bischoff even make the match in the first place if he was going to turn right around and cancel it?" Gail Kim asked, blinking her dark almond-shaped eyes in confusion.

Trish shook her head. "That's my point: he wasn't planning on cancelling the match. But I'll tell you why he did. It's because _she_–" She suddenly pointed through the crowd at Elektra, and six other heads turned to look. Elektra was so startled that she dropped a bottle of perfume. A sickly floral scent began to fill the room. "_She sold herself_ _for a title shot_!"

"That's not true!" Elektra shot back.

"Oh, isn't it?" Trish advanced toward Elektra, the other Divas at her back like an angry mob. When Trish stopped, they spread out, surrounding Elektra on all sides. "We all know what goes on in Evolution. You whore yourself out to Triple H, and in return, you get anything you want." She stared hard at Elektra, her expression unreadable. "And we all know you can't be trusted in the ring. Why, just last week, Stacy Keibler over there turned her back on you for one second, and–what happened again, Stace?"

"She knocked me into the ringpost," Stacy replied icily, her normally sweet face marred by anger.

"Exactly." Trish finished. "So who's to say you didn't beg your precious sugar daddy for a title opportunity?"

Elektra looked around at the other Divas, searching for pity and finding none. "I didn't mean...it was...you know that I'm not like that!"

"Is that so? I don't think I even know you anymore," Trish interrrupted flatly. "Ever since you've been part of Evolution, you've been two different people. And I know I'm not alone here when I say that we really don't know which Elektra is the real one. How do we know this isn't just another 'act'?" The other Divas nodded and voiced their assent. Trish stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You know, I took pity on you when you first came here. I took you under my wing, helped you with your wrestling skills...and all along, you were just using me so you could get a shot at _this_!" She held up the Women's Championship, like Lady Liberty brandishing her torch.

"_Shut up_!" Elektra screamed. Her vehemence was enough to send Trish and the other Divas scurrying back a few steps. Elektra looked around at each of them, her eyes blazing, her fingers curling into claws. "You have _no idea_ what my life is like! If you knew...if _any of you knew_ what I live with every day...you wouldn't dare judge me like this! _I live in hell_...and I have done worse things than any of you _combined_ just so I can _survive_!"

"Then enlighten us!" Trish shouted back. "Let us all know what your life is like. I think we'd all like to hear what really happens in the Evolution locker room!" Six other heads bobbed up and down in unison.

Elektra looked at the beautiful angry faces surrounding her. "I can't–" Her voice cracked. "I can't _tell you_..."

Trish rolled her eyes. "Of course you can't." she replied sarcastically. The Women's Champion stepped close to Elektra, leaning next to her ear. "And do you know _why_ you can't? Because deep down, _you like it_. You _enjoy _it. You don't mind being Triple H's whore because that's all you'll ever be!"

"_Shut up, you fucking bitch_!" Elektra shrieked. Before anyone could stop her, she pulled back and slapped Trish across the face with all her strength. Trish went flying backward, Victoria and Gail Kim catching her before she hit the floor. For a few moments, she stared incredulously back at Elektra, as though up until now, she hadn't thought the grey-eyed Diva was really capable of such violence. Elektra stared back at her, tears streaming down her face.

When Trish spoke again, her voice was cold. "I'll make it easy for you. The doctors say that this–" she indicated the cast on her arm. "–comes off exactly three days after Vengeance. You'll get your match the following Monday."

"Fine," Elektra snapped. "Now excuse me," She hurled everything else into her suitcase, zipped it up and started for the door. The other Divas parted to let her pass, almost as though they didn't want to come into contact with her.

* * *

Elektra could barely see through the veil of tears. She turned down one corridor after another, not really knowing where she was going, and not really caring either. She didn't care about anything anymore. The only thing she wanted to know was: when did everything become so horribly, horribly wrong? She had never wanted it to be this way. When had she suddenly become as bad as Triple H?

She almost bumped into someone going the opposite direction, and shied to the side, muttering "Excuse me..."

"Elektra?" It was Batista. She had almost collided with Batista. It didn't make any difference; she didn't want him to see her like this. There was no way that he could possibly care her anymore, now that she was so dirty inside. She began to run, the suitcase bouncing and tipping on its wheels behind her. "Elektra!" He was chasing her now, grabbing her by the arms, turning her to face him. She let go of the suitcase as she struggled to break free. He couldn't see her like this, couldn't see her...

"Let me go!" she cried. "I'm fine, _I'm fine_!" She beat her fists against his chest, but it was like hitting granite. Batista just stood there and let her pour out her emotions, until she was exhausted and all she could do was lean against his chest, still murmuring weakly: "I'm fine..."

"No, you're not," Batista interjected quietly. "You're not fine." Without caring who might be watching, he gently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

Elektra began to sob. "Dave...I've become just like him...I'm just like Hunter now..."

"Listen to me." Batista pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. "You are _nothing _like Hunter. Do you understand me? _Nothing like him_."

Elektra stared back at him, her face covered with tears. "Hold me, please..." she whispered.

Batista held her close, stroking her hair and letting her cry. It was the only thing he could do for her right now.

From his vantage point just around a corner, Randy Orton watched the two of them cling to each other, his eyes blazing with hate.


	14. Chapter 14: Worst Fears Realized

Chapter 14: Worst Fears Realized

Vengeance had finally arrived. The first match on the card, an impromptu tag team contest, was already in full swing, but in the Evolution locker room, its members' minds were on more important matters. Minus their leader, the four of them sat in a semi-circle, lost in their own thoughts.

Elektra was filled with a quiet desperation and despair. It was finally game time, in all possible senses of the word, and only she seemed to be aware that time had run out for poor Eugene. But then again, she was the only one who knew that the World Heavyweight Championship was contingent upon the destruction of Eric Bischoff's nephew. Elektra shuddered inwardly, thinking back to the past Monday night and how devastated Eugene had looked. If only Triple H hadn't ducked...then maybe Eugene wouldn't have accidentally blasted Chris Benoit in the face with a steel chair. And after it was over, the Game had crept into Eugene's mind like a noxious poison, telling the confused young man over and over that he had 'done the right thing'.

_He didn't do the damn right thing!_ Elektra thought furiously to herself, echoing the words of good ol' J.R. _No, he just did things the same way all of us do...Triple H's way._

She tried to force herself back to the present, to Vengeance, to Evolution. She was squeezed on the couch between Flair and Batista. Orton was perched on an easy chair a few feet away. Batista was reclining against the sofa, his arm thrown casually across its back, conveniently right behind Elektra. His well-muscled thigh pressed against her own, and every so often, he would nonchalantly brush her hair back from her shoulder, his fingers grazing her skin. And every time he did, she had to repress a shiver of desire. Flair and Orton didn't notice: they were to be trying to one-up each other with I've-Suffered-The-Most-Because-Of-Eugene stories.

"This is even worse than the rash I got from that girl you set me up with!" Flair continued. "I gotta walk out of the curtain with _Eugene_ tonight!" He stopped and looked around impatiently. "Where's H? Where's Hunter?"

"I dunno," Randy replied in a bored voice. At that moment, Triple H walked back into the locker room, clad in an Evolution t-shirt and his wrestling trunks.

"Oh, the explanation has arrived!" Flair exclaimed sarcastically. He stood up and the rest of Evolution followed suit. The Game looked around at the crowd of demanding faces as though he could not possibly know what was going on. "What? What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Flair retorted.

Orton held up his hands. "Fine, I'll say it." He turned to Triple H. "Listen, man, what's up with Eugene? You've got a World Title match tonight...Granted, last Monday, everything worked well; it worked in our favor. But you've gotta tell us: what's going on? What's the deal with Eugene?"

The Game smiled confidently. "Calm down. Listen, you're talking about a future World Tag Team champion and his partner's standing right there–"

"Wait, wait, whoa!" Flair interrupted. "Hunter, we love you...but first and foremost, we _respect_ you. You're our _leader_." The other members of Evolution nodded. "H, the guy has got a screw missing. I don't wanna be out there with him!" This comment brought a similar series of assents and comments from Orton and Batista.

Triple H waved his hands in the air, trying to calm the noise. "Wait, wait, hold on. Would you listen to yourselves? Why are you all getting so hot and bothered? Everything's going to be fine tonight."

Batista clapped the Game on the shoulder. "Just fill us in, man." he said quietly. "What the hell's going on? I mean...Eugene? How the hell is _Eugene_ gonna help you beat Benoit tonight?"

Triple H looked around. It was obviously from the expressions before him that he was not going to be able to leave here without giving some sort of explanation. "All right, I'll let you guys in. You wanna know what's going to happen?" Another round of nods. Triple H leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "When the time is right...what we're going to do is: Eu–" He stopped suddenly, looking all around the room as if he had suddenly remembered something. "Where...ah...where _is_ Eugene?"

Batista grinned, chuckling. "Who cares?"

"I'm serious!" The relaxed expression was gone from the Game's face. He was still looking around. "Where is Eugene? You guys weren't supposed to leave him alone!"

"I already watched him today!" Orton interjected, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "It was Dave's turn to watch him!"

"I've been watching the guy all week!" Batista protested. "He's been driving me nuts with his action figures!" This sparked another cacophony of accusations and objections from the rest of Evolution. Elektra hung back. Secretly, she figured that the farther away Eugene was from Evolution, the better.

Triple H was shouting now as well, trying to make himself heard over the din. "All right, all right! It's not about who was supposed to watch him!" At this, Orton quickly pointed at Batista. "It's about _where is he_. He can't be by himself. He's not here. Was he here?" The rest of Evolution suddenly found more important things to look at. Elektra thought it was funny; a bunch of grown men unwilling to admit that they hadn't been paying attention. The Game shook his head. "I gotta go find him." He hurried away, in the closest thing to a panic that Elektra had ever seen him.

Even with him gone, the tension in the room seemed to have increased tenfold. Elektra had to get out of there. Muttering a hasty "Excuse me...", she walked out of the Evolution locker room, making sure to go the opposite direction of Triple H. Turning down a corridor, she found a small niche in the wall that housed the door to a storage closet. She ducked inside and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes.

"Feel like sharing?" Batista's voice interrupted her thoughts. Elektra opened her eyes as the Animal eased himself into the niche, taking up the wall opposite her and crossing his arms in a similar fashion.

Elektra sighed. "This whole thing with Eugene...it's going to end badly. For everyone. I know it and I feel it in my gut, and all I can do is sit back and wait for it to happen." She shook her head. "We've done a lot of shitty things to people during the last six months. What we did to Shelton Benjamin...to _Mick Foley_...that was different. But Eugene...he's just so innocent. He's being used and it breaks my heart because he doesn't even know why."

There was a long moment of silence. "Look," Batista said finally. "None of that's going to matter after tonight. When Hunter wins the World Heavyweight Title–"

"Yeah, well, you're kidding yourself if you think that Hunter's going to leave Eugene alone once he's got the World Heavyweight Title." Elektra retorted. "That boy is going to get hurt, one way or another, and there's nothing that I can do to protect him."

Batista was quiet for a few seconds. "So...what do you want me to do?"

Elektra looked up at him, staring deep into his eyes. "Don't hurt Eugene." He hadn't meant to, but she still saw the quick flash of derision in his eyes. "Look, I know you don't like him. I'm not asking you too. All I'm asking is that you stand up for someone who can't defend himself." She stepped closer. "And if you can't do it for yourself...then do it for me." That was the clincher and both of them knew it. Elektra laid her hand on his chest. "Do it because you care about me." she whispered. "Please."

Batista looked at the floor, but she could tell by his body language that he was relenting. "All right," he replied. "I'll do it."

"You promise?" Elektra pressed.

"I promise." Batista finished, looking back up at her.

Elektra felt her body sag with relief. "Thank you." she murmured. She leaned against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She could feel his heart beat. Was it beating just a little bit faster? She knew that hers was. Six months of this yearning; always the desire to go further but never the courage to take that first step. Elektra often wondered how much longer she would be able to stand it. She wondered if she and Batista were even destined to be together. But if that were the case...then why did it hurt so much when they were apart?

* * *

Orton watched the pair from his usual position just behind the corner. He saw Elektra exit the niche first, followed by Batista. They went in opposite directions; probably since Dave's match against Chris Jericho was up next. Orton moved further down the corridor as Elektra approached, but she turned without seeing him, heading back for the locker room.

Too bad there had been too much background noise coming from the ring; he would have loved to hear what they were talking about this time.

Orton clenched his teeth, feeling that familiar combination of anger and lust that Elektra always seemed to evoke. From the first moment he had seen her on Triple H's arm, he had known in his gut that they were perfect for each other. After all, it only made sense: a long-reigning Intercontinental Champion with model-good looks, and a smoking hot Diva with a thing for champions. Plus, those eyes of hers...But yet, no matter what he did, she always treated him with contempt, like a fucking _joke_. The way she'd laughed at him when he'd propositioned her...it still made him wish that he'd put his hands around her throat and squeezed until the laughter in her eyes turned to fear. He was the longest reigning Intercontinental Champion in the last seven years, the Legend Killer, the _future_ of this business, and he still couldn't conquer one lousy woman. And possibly worst of all...she could have had any man she wanted, but she chose to hang around Evolution's Animal. Orton sneered to himself. Dave was loyal, but he would never be anything more than Evolution's muscle. He was nowhere _near_ Orton's level.

Which was why he couldn't figure out why Elektra could possibly be interested in Dave Batista. If she was merely a golddigger, latching herself onto greatness, what allure did the Animal possess? What did she see in him? Ever since spying them in the hallway a few weeks ago, Orton had begun to suspect that something more was going on between the pair, but he'd never been able to prove it. When he'd taken his observations to Hunter, the Game had thrown back his head and roared with laughter. _She's just having a rough day, Randy...and besides, it's Dave we're talking about here_. He had to admit that the idea was amusing.

Maybe tonight, he would finally gain the insight that he had been seeking; not to send Elektra back into Hunter's arms, but so he could finally possess her himself.

Randy smiled, a lean predatory smile. He was patient. He would bide his time and wait for the right opportunity.

* * *

Elektra sat on one of the benches, filing her nails and occasionally glancing up at the monitor. Edge's victory over Orton had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but she forced herself not to show it. Orton would probably be back soon, and she did not want to make herself a target for his rage. Just finish up this nail, and then hightail it out of here for twenty minutes or so...

Too late; Orton chose that moment to come stomping into the locker room. Elektra didn't look over at him, but she didn't need to see him to know that he was pissed off. She hunched her shoulders and concentrated on her nails, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

It didn't work, however. Orton turned and glared at her. "What? What is it this time?"

Deep down inside, Elektra was terrified. She prayed that Batista, Flair...hell, even Triple H would return to the locker room. But regardless of what she was feeling, she refused to become a victim. She was not going to let Orton see that she was afraid of him, no matter what the situation. "Nothing...except great job crying in the ring like a little bitch."

Orton stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists. His body was trembling with pent-up rage. "Shut up." he stated, his tone menacing.

Elektra held one hand out in front of her, inspecting her nails. "And there's nothing more pathetic than watching a grown man cry."

"I said _shut up_!" Orton shouted, rushing toward her. He grabbed Elektra by the throat, throwing her down onto the bench. Straddling her body, he pressed one hand over her mouth. Elektra tried to scream, but couldn't; the sound was too muffled. She could barely breathe; Orton's weight was suffocating her. She looked up into his eyes and saw from their crazed light that he had finally snapped.

"You stupid little slut," he hissed angrily. "I'll give you something to cry about." A feeling of horror flooded Elektra as she felt him fumbling under her skirt. She struggled to push him off her, but he was too strong. Then his hand slid into her panties, and for Elektra, the world went red. She caught part of his hand between her teeth and bit down hard. Orton yelped in pain, and raised his hand to hit her. Elektra squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the blow. _This is Reading all over again_...she thought dimly to herself. But the blow never came.

There was an angry roar, and Orton was suddenly pulled off her. Elektra heard a crash, and opened her eyes to see Batista throw the Legend Killer against the shelves with enough force to make the wood crack. The Animal was livid; he shoved his forearm up against Orton's windpipe, cutting off his air supply. Randy began gagging, his eyes bulging and his tongue protruding from his mouth.

"How do you like that?" Batista bellowed. "Huh? Not so much fun when it's someone who can fight back, is it?" He pulled Orton away from the shelves, then slammed him back into them even harder. "I _told_ you to keep your fucking hands off her!"

Elektra could only watch, spellbound, as Batista dismantled Randy. A tiny part of her was timidly suggesting that she step in, stop this before someone really got hurt, but Elektra had no problem ignoring that voice. After what Orton had tried to do to her, she wanted to see him hurt. She wanted to see him bleed. She wanted him broken down until he finally understood what it was like to live in fear.

Unfortunately for her, Flair and Triple H burst into the locker room, Flair exclaiming: "What the hell?"

"Get him off me!" Orton managed to gasp out. It took both of them, with all their strength, to pull the raging Batista off of Randy.

Once the two men were separated, Triple H looked from one to the other, then over at Elektra, then back at them. "What the _hell_ is going on in here?" he demanded.

Batista pointed at Orton, his massive body shaking with rage. "I heard shouting, I come in, and _he's_ on top of her!"

Triple H looked at Elektra, his gaze unreadable. "Is this true?"

Elektra couldn't speak at first. She nodded slowly, and then found her voice. "He tried to rape me." she whispered.

"You lying bitch–" Orton yelled, but Triple H cut him off.

"Shut it!" He turned back to Batista. "That what you saw, Dave?"

Batista stared at the Game coldly. "She wasn't willing, if that's what you're asking."

Orton, by now, was peering intently at Batista. "And you just _happened_ to be walking by? Pretty convenient, if you ask me–"

"_I told you to shut your damn mouth_!" Now Triple H was finally started to get angry. "You're coming with me. We're going to have a little chat out in the hall. You two–" he indicated Flair and Batista. "–stay with her." The Game grabbed Orton by the arm and herded him out the door. "First that retard, now this," he muttered to no one in particular. "I do not need this shit right now." 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Triple H returned minus Randy. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Okay, here's the plan. Obviously, the best thing to do right now is to keep you two apart, so Flair, you'll be traveling with Orton from now on. You are to keep an eye on him at all times. Elektra will ride with either Dave or me. Dave, you'll be her escort whenever she's not with me. I don't think Orton will try anything stupid, but just in case..." Triple H looked at the three faces before him. "Anything I missed?"

Elektra slowly rose to her feet, her whole body shaking. "That's it?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "After what I went through...just a slap on the wrist and separate cars? That's all?" Her anger burst free of its delicate cage. "That _fuckhead_ tried to rape me, Hunter. I want him _gone_."

"Well, unfortunately, that's not an option," the Game replied flatly. "We need Orton right now, so we're just going to have to deal with it." He saw the look on her face, and tried to explain. "Look, babe, this is about more than you or me. This is about an ideal. This is about _Evolution_. You have to understand that–"

"No, what I _understand_ is that you're willing to sacrifice anything and anyone rather than risk losing Orton. Including me." Elektra interrupted. "The first time it happened...I let it go. I trusted you when you said that you would 'deal' with it. But now it's the second time, and you're still looking the other way. What do I have to do, give him a third chance to actually succeed before you'll start listening to me?" Elektra shook her head vehemently. "This is bullshit." She looked around at the remaining members of Evolution. "I'm going back to the hotel." She stormed out the door without another word.

Batista started to follow her. Triple H stopped him. "Dave, you understand...right?" He seemed to be almost pleading with the Animal.

Batista pulled away, his expression blank. "Not really, Hunter. I didn't join Evolution just to protect would-be rapists." He headed for the door. "I'll make sure she gets back to the room all right," he called over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Triple H turned to Flair, the only person left at this point. "Ric, now you have to–"

Flair held up his hand, silencing the Game. "Hunter, I've known you a long time. And you're right; we do need Orton on our side. But that–" he pointed toward the open door. "–shouldn't have happened."

Triple H walked over to the bench, sitting down and propping his chin on his hand. "Out in the hall...Orton hinted at some things...about Elektra." He looked up at the Nature Boy. "Ric, you don't really think that she's screwing someone else behind my back?"

Flair chuckled. "What? Her?" He took a seat next to the Game. "Not a chance. She's too loyal. No matter how many stupid things you've done in the past–and believe me, there have been quite a few–she's always come back to you." The Nature Boy's expression sobered. "But I will tell you this, Hunter: you better watch how you handle this thing with Orton. If Elektra doesn't feel like you can protect her anymore–she's going to find someone else who can."


	15. Chapter 15: Sex and Violence

Chapter 15: Sex and Violence

Elektra stared out the window of the car, watching the light from passing streetlight play over the curve of the dashboard. She wondered if she was going into shock; everything was starting to numb down to a quiet discomfort. Her stomach was clenched so tight with emotion that it hurt; hurt almost to the point of nausea. Her body felt so bottled up that she couldn't even force herself to cry. She wondered how she was going to release this tension, but the truth was, she didn't care anymore. She wanted nothing more to do with Vengeance. Or Evolution. Or Triple H.

The memory of Orton's hands on her made her feel violated. Everything that she had been running from, everything that she had struggled to put behind her, had come back full circle in a vicious way. And what had Triple H done about it? Nothing. Once again, the Game had shown that he was more concerned about the ideal of Evolution than Evolution itself. It didn't matter that its members were attacking one another; so long as the rest of the roster perceived Evolution as _the _dominant force. Elektra wondered what it would take for Triple H to place some importance on her. Would her dead, multilated body need to show up in a hallway somewhere? Even then, the Game would say grudgingly: "Well...there aren't any witnesses...and we _do_ need Orton..."

Maybe she should threaten to leave him again. Or maybe this time, she should just _leave_, period.

Batista glanced briefly from the road over at her. Elektra was leaning back against the seat; not really moving; not even really blinking. He reached over and gently grasped one of her hands. She entwined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand in return.

Batista finally asked the one thing he wanted to know; the one thing he had been unable to say in front of Triple H and Flair: "Did he hurt you?"

Elektra looked over, her features lit by alternating light and shadow. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure...if I'm ever able to fall asleep again." She looked back out the window again. "But I'm taking at least five showers when I get back to the room. Just the thought of his hands on me..." she shuddered. "I feel like I'm going to be sick." She looked back at him again, and her voice grew soft. "Dave...thank you...for saving me."

"Don't thank me," Batista hadn't meant to sound so brusque and he quickly softened his tone. "I didn't get a chance to kill that bastard." He looked out at the road ahead. "It's funny...I go out in the ring almost every night, and I destroy opponents without really thinking about it...but with Orton...that was the first time I ever really wanted to tear someone apart."

"And then Hunter had to choose the wrong time to walk by, like always." Elektra interjected bitterly. "For such a great leader, he sure has a shitty grasp of leadership."

Batista glanced over at her again, then, turning on the car's blinkers, pulled the vehicle off to the side of the road, putting it in park. He turned his body toward her. "Why are you still with Hunter?"

Elektra felt tears sting her eyes and tried to blink them away. "I don't know anymore..." she admitted, her voice strained. "After tonight...I can't even remember what drew me to him in the first place."

"_Leave him_." Batista's voice was practically a whisper, but it seemed to resonate throughout the near silent car. "What are you going to do; wait for Orton to get another opportunity or else wait for Hunter to decide you're not worth the trouble?" He disentangled his hand from hers and reached up to touch her face. "I would rather have Hunter come after me than see him hurt you again." Now his own voice was growing thick with emotion. "_Please...just leave him._"

There were several minutes of silence before Elektra spoke again, and when she did, her voice seemed calm and collected for the first time. "Next week...after my Women's Title match...I'll tell him."

Her simple acquiescence stunned Batista into silence. "You will? Just like that?" he stammered.

Elektra turned and looked him right in the eye. "Yes." Her face broke into a smile. It was a pale ghost of the real thing, but it was still a smile. "Hey, after all he's put me through, I should at least get a title shot out of the bargain." Her expression grew sober again. "I'm tired, Dave...tired of being afraid all the time...tired of going through the motions with Hunter... but most of all, I'm tired of pretending that you're nothing but a friend when in reality, I want you so bad–" She stopped, overcome with emotion. Batista didn't interrupt, but merely waited until she was able to speak again. Elektra swiped at her eyes, catching some unshed tears. "I want you so bad that it hurts me whenever we're apart. I want to be with you, and not have to hide it."

"Elektra..." Batista whispered, and faster than he would have thought possible, she had unbuckled her seat belt and was on his lap, kissing him. He kissed her back, sliding his hands around to her back. Her skin was burning through the light fabric of her dress. Her hair brushed against his arm. Batista moved his mouth down to her neck, his tongue teasing her bare skin. Elektra moaned softly, trailing her hands down his chest. Batista slowly slid off one of the shoulder straps of her dress so he could kiss her bare shoulder, nipping gently at her with his teeth. Elektra moved back to give him more room...and accidently leaned against the horn.

The loud blare startled them both; Elektra almost hit her head on the ceiling of the car. She looked back at Batista, seeing the grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, and couldn't help but laugh. He joined her, and for a while, they gave in to the hilarity of the moment.

"You know," Batista finally managed to say. "I think someone's trying to tell us something."

Elektra was able to stop laughing, but couldn't keep the smile from her face. "I think they're trying to tell us to wait until next week." She started giggling again. "Can you imagine what would have happened if a cop had drove by? 'No, officer, we're _not_ shooting a porno. No, we _know_ that prostitution is illegal in this state."

Batista started laughing again, too. When they finally calmed down, he stared deep into her eyes, losing himself like he always did in those silver depths. "Next week, then?"

Elektra sobered as well. "Next week." She leaned down, her mouth next to his ear. "Then you'll have me...all of me." The tip of her tongue touched his earlobe and she felt him shiver.

Slowly, reluctantly, they disentangled themselves and Elektra returned to her seat. The car moved off down the road, and for the first time, Elektra felt completely free from fear.

* * *

She had just finished her sixth shower and was toweling herself off when she heard the hotel room door open. Elektra quickly wrapped the towel around her body and finger-combed her wet hair back from her face. She reached for the bathroom doorknob, but had to jump back when the door was flung open, slamming against the adjacent wall. Triple H stepped into the bathroom, almost like he was stepping into a wrestling ring. Elektra almost expecting him to rear back and spit a mist of water into the air. But then he kicked the door shut behind him and the mood was broken. The look on his face...it was terrifying. He was coming toward her, faster than she would have thought possible. Elektra backed up, her bare feet slipping on the wet floor. Triple H was suddenly right in front of her, grabbing both of her wrists, pushing her hard against the wall. He forced her wrists up, pinning them to the wall on either side of her head. He jammed his face into hers, his voice a harsh growl. "_You did this. _You and that fucking idiot."

"Hunter, have you lost your goddamn mind?" Elektra hissed. "What could I have possibly done? I wasn't even there!"

"Exactly." the Game countered. "First you ruin my concentration with your fucking hysterics, then you take off."

Elektra could feel her insides boiling. "Hysterics? _Hysterics_?"

Triple H continued as though she hadn't said anything. "_And then_, when I'm on the verge of destroying Benoit once and for all, that retard Eugene hits me in the face with a chair."

"Knowing you, you probably brought the chair in the ring in the first place." Elektra retorted. "And as for my so-called 'hysterics'...I don't know of many women who would react calmly to being almost raped by someone she's supposed to trust." She looked at the Game with disdain. "And _you_...you couldn't even defend me, like a _man_. What did you do? You _compromised_, like a _bitch_."

She heard Triple H's sharp intake of breath. This comment had cut deep; she could tell. "Hey, babe, I've always been more than enough man for you. Want me to prove it to you right now?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. Elektra could feel his hardness pressing against her through the towel.

"Take a shower, Hunter, _'cause I'm not in the mood_." she snapped. Smirking, she lifted her chin a little bit higher. "God, sometimes, you are _pathetic. _Oh, and while we're on the subject..." She pushed forward and the Game actually moved back a step. "...I did everything that you asked leading up to Vengeance. _Eugene_ did everything that you asked. So there's only one person responsible for your loss tonight, Hunter, and that's _you_. Not me, not Eugene, but _you_. _You_ lost the match. So now what are _you_ going to do about it?"

Triple H stared back at her, and for a moment, Elektra though he was going to explode from rage. Then, unexpectedly, his expression relaxed into a sick smile. Elektra felt her newfound confidence draining away bit by bit, replacing itself with fear. "What am I going to do about it?" he repeated, as though the idea had never occurred to him. He released her wrists, and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Elektra shuddered at his touch. The Game leaned in close, his mouth against her ear. "Well, I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

Pulling away, he walked out of the bathroom without a backward glance. Elektra slowly sank to the floor, her whole body trembling with fear and dread.

* * *

The Evolution locker room was in a state of confusion when Triple H and Elektra arrived. Orton and Flair were arguing over who would get the first crack at Eugene when he showed up. Batista was joining in as well, but it was more for the benefit of the other two. The Animal, backing away from a potential ass-kicking? As she entered, Batista looked up, and their eyes met. The look was brief, but it spoke volumes of desire

The Game joined the fray, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. One by one, the others fell silent, waiting for Triple H to speak his piece.

"Are you clear? Is _everyone_ clear?" the Game growled. "The _second _that Eugune walks through that door–"

"Yeah, we're gonna kill him!" Flair interrupted triumphantly. One look from Triple H was enough to shut him up.

"Listen," the Game stated in an icy tone. "_Nobody_ _touches him until I do_." Looks of confusion appeared on the faces of the other Evolution members at this.

Batista grabbed Triple H's arm. "Champ, we'll do whatever you want...but I should get him first. I mean, I had to take this guy to _Chuck E Cheese_–"

"Chuck E Cheese!" Flair interjected. "I was out in that ring last night! It was the most embarassing moment of my life! He stole all my stuff–"

"Stole all your stuff?" Now it was Orton's turn to break in. "Ric, with all due respect, _I lost the Intercontinental Title last night_! It was all Eugene's fault! He put me in a match six days before Vengeance–"

"Hey!" Triple H shoved his face right into Orton's and the Legend Killer fell silent. "No one, _no one_, lost more last night than I did. Eugene cost me the _World Heavyweight Championship_! Do you understand me?" He looked at each of the other Evolution members in turn. "No one lost more than I did." he repeated. "So I want everyone on the same page...when Eugene walks through that door, _you all follow my lead_."

At that moment, there came the sound of the knob turning. Elektra tried to back away, to avoid this somehow, but the Game grabbed her by the back of the neck. "Not so fast. I want you to watch this." The door opened, and Eugene slowly walked inside, dragging his feet. He looked like a school kid who had been sent to the principal's office. As he walked by each member of Evolution, he looked up timidly and was met with glares in return. When his gaze focused on Elektra, she smiled at him, trying to reassure him and not show how scared she was.

"Tri-Triple H, I-I messed up last night," Eugene stammered. "I made a mistake." He looked around at the other Superstars. "Evolution...you guys...I-I-I'm sorry."

Elektra squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see this happen, wanting to be anywhere else but here. However, her eyes flew back open when she heard Triple H exclaim: "What are you talking about, Eugene? Don't worry about it! Everyone makes mistakes." Everyone, including Elektra, turned to stare at the Game, their mouths hanging open in shock. The look on Randy Orton's face was priceless. But for Elektra, however, the shock was quickly replaced by dread. Triple H was not going to end this swiftly. He was going to drag it out to inflict the maximum amount of pain.

Eugene looked up, as though he too had been expecting to be hit. "You're-you're not mad at me?"

The Game, meanwhile, had pasted a huge smile on his smile, looking for all the world like a jovial fun-loving guy. "No, not mad at you at all. Don't worry about it."

Eugene looked around the room cautiously. "These guys look mad at me." His gaze focused on Orton, whose eyes were shooting daggers. "_He _looks mad at me."

Triple H nodded thoughtfully. "Yep, Randy does look pretty mad. In fact, they all look pretty mad. I admit, the guys _are_ a little angry. But you know what, Eugene?" He put his hand on Eugene's shoulder, leaning forward conspiratorially. "The important thing is that friends are friends. And even though you made a mistake...everyone makes mistakes, and they know that, Eugene, and friends are friends. Hey, listen," the Game patted Eugene on the shoulder. "I'm not mad at you, okay? Trust me." He paused, in a way that could only have been for dramatic effect, and continued. "_But_, unfortunately, I _do_ know someone who is _really _mad at you, really, _really_ mad at you...and that's your uncle Eric." Elektra felt her heart stop. She started to open her mouth, wanting to stop this ridiculous charade, but almost as though he could read her mind, Triple H reached back and grabbed her wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make his point.

"Uh-oh," Eugene groaned, not aware of the clash of egos that was occurring right in front of him.

"Yeah, uh-oh," Triple H agreed. "Your uncle Eric said the second you walked in here, he wanted to see you. So, you better run along and go see your uncle Eric, 'cause he said he needed to tell you something."

Eugene looked even more afraid at this news. "Okay..." He started to leave, then turned back toward the group. "Guys...I'm sorry." He shuffled off without another word.

The rest of Evolution was speechless for a few moments. Orton looked from the door to Triple H to the door and back again, his mouth agape. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" he sputtered. "What was that? _What was that_? Follow your lead? Why didn't we just take care of it right there?"

The Game chuckled, reaching around to encircle the back of Elektra's neck with his hand and pull her close. "Listen, you may not understand it right now, but when you hear what Uncle Eric tells him...trust me, you'll _all _understand."

Elektra slowly turned her head to look up at Triple H. "Hunter, what have you done?" The Game didn't answer her. "_What have you done_?" she repeated, her body numb with horror.

Triple H finally looked down at her. "Exactly what you told me, babe...I did something about it." He gripped her neck, just enough to remind her of her role in Evolution. But Elektra hardly noticed. All she could think was that it couldn't end like this. She couldn't just let Eugene walk off to his doom.

Before Triple H could stop her, she pulled free and throwing the door open, ran out after Eugene. Making a right, she spotted him up near the end of the hall. "Eugene!" The ambling figure stopped and turned around. Elektra caught up with him, slightly out of breath from her dash. Eugene looked down guiltily at the floor.

"You're mad at me, too." he mumbled.

His words brought tears to Elektra's eyes. "What? Oh, no, Eugene." She pressed both hands over her heart. "No, Eugene, I'm not mad." He slowly looked back up at her. "I could never be mad at you."

"You couldn't?" Eugene asked hesitantly.

Elektra smiled, trying hard not to cry. How could she tell him? How could she make him understand? And even if she could...how could she hope to change anything? She shot a glance behind her. No sign of the Game yet. "Listen, Eugene, there's something that you need to know." Eugene looked at her expectantly, one hand grabbing at his hair. "Chris Benoit is your friend, Eugene. Chris Benoit has _always_ been your friend." _I'm the one who failed you..._she thought miserably to herself. "Can you remember that for me, Eugene?" Eugene nodded eagerly. Elektra quickly looked away before he could see the tear slipping down her cheek. "Now, you better hurry up. You don't want to keep Uncle Eric waiting."

Eugene had just disappeared from sight when Triple H caught up with her. Turning her around, he grabbed her arms and shook her forcibly. "_What_ did you tell him?" he demanded.

Elektra stared back at him sadly. "Don't worry, Hunter. I didn't tell him anything." She looked down the now-empty hallway. "I just reminded him of something he already knew." she added quietly.

* * *

Elektra spent all evening waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, it wasn't exactly a willing anticipation. She desperately wanted to know what Triple H was planning, but there was no way she wanted to see it actually play out.

Like all calamities, it had to hit at the one moment she wasn't paying attention. Elektra was in the women's locker room, putting her makeup back into her cosmetic bag, when she heard Stacy Keibler exclaim: "Oh my God!"

Like a mass Exodus, the other Divas crowded around the monitor, murmuring amongst themselves. Elektra approached them and elbowed her way through the crowd, not really caring at this point who she pissed off. The moment her eyes beheld the image on the screen, she gasped. Batista and Orton had Eugene by the arms and had forced him down to his knees, allowing Triple H to unload with vicious slaps and punches. Eugene had been cut open and blood was starting to pour down his face. The expression on his face almost broke her heart. It was a mixture of pain and misery, and above all, confusion. He simply could not understand why his so-called 'friends' were doing this to him.

"God..." Victoria muttered, pressing one hand to her mouth.

"Poor guy," Stacy added, the other Divas murmuring in assent.

Nidia shot a glare at Elektra. "This is all _your_ fault." she said accusingly, her Puerto Rican accent becoming even more pronounced.

"Oh, shut up." Elektra retorted, mostly to herself. Turning around, she pushed her way back out of the crowd and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?" Nidia called after her.

Elektra reached the door, stopped and turned around. "To stop this." she whispered. Her voice was low, but it carried throughout the room. Without another word, she ran out the door.

Nidia turned to Trish for input. The Women's Champion rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." She glanced briefly down at her splinted hand before looking back up at the monitor. "Just keep watching. It's going to be Chris Jericho all over again."

* * *

Elektra ran, not really caring who she passed or what they thought. So, everyone thought she couldn't be trusted. They thought she would only turn on them. Well, it was time to show them that even she could do the right thing for once.

Pushing the black curtain aside, she ran out and sprinted down the Titantron, almost twisting her ankle. She had run track in high school, but they had never taught her how to run in stilettos. Up ahead in the ring, she saw the fallen figure of Eugene, surrounded by the four members of Evolution. The crowd reacted with confusion when they saw her, but there was also an undercurrent of foreboding, as everyone anticipated a replay of the Chris Jericho incident.

Reaching the ring, Elektra grabbed the ropes and hauled herself up to the ring apron. She leaned over, yelling as loud as she could. "Stop it! Hunter, stop, please!" None of the men seemed to hear her, not even Batista. In that moment, Elektra suddenly realized that he had broken her promise to her. A flicker of pain shot through her heart. Slipping into the ring, she ran up to Triple H, grabbing his arm. "Hunter, I'm begging you–"

Whether he was oblivious or just tired of listening, the Game shook her off. When she tried to approach him again, he swatted at her like a gnat. His hand caught her on the side of the face, knocking her to the ground. Elektra looked back up, clutching her cheek, aghast. Triple H didn't even seem to notice. But opposite him, Batista looked up and saw her for the first time. He froze, his fist raised in mid-punch. Elektra stared back at him, wanting to cry. Her eyes were accusing. _How could you..._

Taking advantage of that hesitation, she made one last desperate attempt to stop the brutality. Crawling on hands and knees between the men's legs, she threw herself over Eugene, shielding his unconscious body with her own. "_Stop it_!" she screamed one last time.

The rest of Evolution backed away, all except for Orton, who probably saw the situation as a chance to inflict pain on her as well. He brought his boot down hard, catching her in the spine. Elektra cried out in pain, but at the same time, resigned herself to it. If she would have to take punishment to make them stop, so be it. Orton was raising his foot for another stomp, but Triple H grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Wait, wait, Randy, stop. You've made your point." He looked down at Elektra. "We've all made our point."

Evolution's music hit, and the four men spread out around the fallen Eugene. Elektra began to weep, her whole body heaving with the effort. Without pity, the Game reached down and yanked her to her feet. Elektra didn't resist, _couldn't_ resist. She covered her face with her hand, sobbing uncontrollably. Triple H smiled cruelly, though whether his amusement was at the violence before him or her misery, she didn't know. He exited the ring and walked slowly backward up the Titantron, dragging Elektra with him. But Elektra barely noticed. She stared at Eugene, and finally felt her heart shatter.

* * *

Elektra delayed as long as she possibly could returning to the hotel. When she opened the door, Triple H was already there, reclining on the bed, his head propped up on the headboard. Elektra ignored him, laying her suitcase down on the floor.

"You know," the Game finally spoke. "You're lucky that your little heroic stunts didn't cause us any more trouble tonight."

"Go to hell." Elektra retorted, pulling things out of her suitcase. "You didn't have to beat him up."

Triple H sat up, and got to his feet. "But I thought that you wanted me to do something about it."

"Stop twisting my words around!" Elektra rose and turned to face the Game, her body shaking with anger. "Quit trying to tell me that I'm responsible for that...that..._destruction_." She shook her head. "I have _never_ understood how you can do that to another human being and then just walk away. It's unhuman to be so cold." She paused, trying to speak past the lump of emotion in her throat. "I don't understand why I'm with you."

"Then why are you?" In a few steps, Triple H closed the distance between them, forcing her against the wall. He leaned close, strands of his blond hair grazing her face. "I'll tell you why...because deep down...you're just like me. You love the destruction as much as I do. We're two of a kind, babe." Elektra started to protest, but the Game put a finger to her lips, shushing her. "The only difference is that I know what I am. You, on the other hand...you labor under the delusion that you're still a good person."

"Shut up." Elektra whispered.

Triple H ignored her. "Deny it all you want...but in your heart, you know that you love the mayhem I create because it _turns you on_."

"You bastard–" Elektra started to shout, but the Game silenced her with his mouth, shoving her against the wall. Reaching under her short black skirt, he located the edge of her panties, and with a swift brutal movement, tore the garment from her body. He slid his hands down to her thighs, and lifted her up effortlessly, slipping his body between her legs. He fumbled briefly in his wrestling trunks, and Elektra couldn't keep a moan from escaping her lips as he slid inside her. Triple H thrust into her again and again, harder and harder each time. Each press of his body slammed her spine-first into the wall, but Elektra didn't care. For the first time since being with Triple H, she wasn't faking it. A raw savage lust had taken over her body, and she wanted him to ravage her, to take from her until there was nothing left and all that mattered was the feeling. She raked her nails across his back, and she could tell from his sharp hiss of pain that she had drawn blood.

The Game stopped and abruptly pulled out. Spinning Elektra around to face the wall, he yanked her skirt up to her waist and entered her from behind. He thrust into her again with that same savage rhythm, grabbing a handful of her hair to pull her back against him. He buried his face in her hair, in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Equal measures of pain and pleasure washed over Elektra, and she felt the orgasm rising inside her like a bubble, threatening to burst. Then it did burst, and she screamed as she came, the pleasure ripping into every corner of her body. Triple H climaxed a few seconds later, and he slumped against her, panting with the exertion.

For a while, all Elektra could do was gasp for breath, trapped between the wall and the hot sweaty mass of Triple H, still weak from the force of the orgasm. Finally the Game stepped back, and she collapsed to her knees, practically clinging to the wall.

Triple H must have been suffering some after-effects, too, because it took him a while to find his voice. "_That's_ Evolution, babe." he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "You don't leave because deep down, you don't want to."

Elektra heard his words as though underwater, but that didn't make their meaning any less clear. As shame and embarrassment filled her, she began to wonder if Triple H's final words had some validity.


	16. Chapter 16: Elektra vs Trish

Chapter 16: Elektra vs. Trish

For Elektra, the following week passed either too quickly or not quickly enough. It depended on which angle she was looking at it from. In terms of breaking off her relationship with Triple H...no, she was not looking forward to that eventual task. But in terms of starting a new relationship with Dave Batista...time could not move fast enough for her.

Either way, the next installment of Monday Night Raw rolled around, and it was time for her title match with Trish Stratus. It was not the main event, rather a mid-card match at the one-hour mark. Nothing special, really. But for Elektra, it was a symbolic representation of everything she had suffered so far. Her first title shot, awarded at the betrayal of another. Elektra doubted that any other Diva who earned a championship match had ever felt so conflicted about it. Evolution's mantra dictated that she shouldn't care. So why did she?

Elektra knew that winning the Women's Championship would give her the necessary leverage to leave the Game. But if she lost...she would be a failure, first and foremost, in his eyes, and for trying to leave as well, she would be a coward and a traitor. Elektra shivered. She knew all too well how Triple H dealt with betrayal.

She watched the monitor, listening to J.R. and the King discuss the rivalry between her and Trish. They were doing a great job of bullshitting, because there really was no rivalry to speak of. Nor was there hatred. The only thing between her and Trish Stratus anymore was a kind of bitter resentment, the remnants of a friendship gone sour. Trish would be going out there tonight to teach her a lesson. But as for Elektra...she didn't really know what she was going out there to prove. Up until now, she had been trying to convince everyone that she wasn't a part of Evolution; that their beliefs didn't mirror her own. Now, she would have no alternative but to go out to the ring and show that she was. Especially since Triple H was sending her to the ring with a particularly heavy piece of artillery.

She felt Batista's hand on her shoulder, stirring her from her reverie. "Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

Elektra gave her head a quick shake, returning herself fully to the present. "Yeah..." She stood up, making one last check of her wrestling gear to make sure that she was securely taped in all the right spots. She did not want her title match marred by popping out of her top. Her ring attire consisted of very short black shorts and a snug fitting black tank top with the word "DIVA" written across the front in cursive script. Her hair was pulled back from her face, enough to be functional but still pretty. Even in a fight, she couldn't forget the primary purpose of a WWE Diva. She stretched quickly, making certain her body was as ready as it could possibly be for the biggest match of her career. Rivalry or no rivalry, it didn't change the fact that Trish was a five-time Women's Champion, and was prepared to fight like hell to keep her title, regardless of who her opponent may be.

As she walked toward the door, Elektra was aware of Batista's imposing presence behind her. They had never spoken about what had happened regarding Eugene. Maybe he assumed that bringing it back up would spark the same outpouring of emotion that she had displayed in the ring that night. Either way, Elektra could feel the issue building up day by day. She wasn't even sure what she would say if they ever did talk about it. Yes, she was angry that Batista had broken his promise to her. She couldn't help that. But on the other hand, how were his actions different from what she did every day; from what she was doing right now? How could she judge him when she was no less monstrous?

Elektra stopped, taking a deep breath, then another. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding. Unbidden, out of the depths of her subconscious, Triple H's words came back to her. _You don't leave because you don't want to..._ She closed her eyes, forcing the memory back down into the darkness from which it came.

"Hey," Batista gently touched her shoulder and turned her around. He looked into her eyes, and Elektra felt her heart flutter to a stop for a second. Hesitantly, he reached out and laid his hand against her cheek. "I've seen you in the ring; you know what you're doing. And I'll be out there the whole time."

"Dave..." Elektra whispered. "I'm scared..." Tears gathered in her eyes. "What if I lose?"

Batista, unfortunately, didn't have an answer for that. Without speaking, he pulled her close, burying his hands in the softness of her hair.

After a while, Elektra finally pulled away, swiping quickly under her eyes with a finger to catch any unshed tears. "Okay, let's do this."

* * *

Elektra walked down the corridor, Batista right behind her. Superstars, male and female, looked up and stepped aside as she passed. A few opened their mouths to hurl a choice remark or two, but one look from Batista was enough to make them change their minds. As they reached the black curtain, the roar of the fans grew louder and Elektra's heart leapt into her throat. The hip-hop rhythm of Trish's entrance music was still playing out in the arena. Then, as they waited, it faded and stopped altogether.

Elektra thought that the anticipation was going to kill her. When the heavy metal sounds of her entrance theme hit, her stomach gave a quick lurch, but the nervousness and fear gradually gave way to the peculiar mixture of adrenaline and excitement that always arose when she went out to the ring.

She pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the top of the Titantron, striking her usual pose. Looking first to one side, then the other, she saw the usual jeering faces, but tonight, the boos were not as loud. There was a definite aura of uncertainty in the air, as everyone remembered how she had tried to defend Eugene the previous week...and how brokenhearted she had been afterwards. The whole crowd was hanging on her every move, waiting to see what she would do next. Of course, none of them actually expected her to beat Trish Stratus tonight. Maybe tonight, she would get the opportunity to prove them wrong.

Trish was in the ring, accompanied by the hulking form of Tyson Tomko, a reminder of her scripted relationship with Christian. Trish hated Tomko almost as much as the Creepy Little Bastard, but she grudgingly put up with him for the sake of progressing a storyline. Besides, it came in handy, having a giant like Tomko on your side. But even Tomko couldn't match the impressive physique of Evolution's Animal. As Elektra stepped into the ring, she could sense the two men sizing each other up.

Trish strode over, getting right in Elektra's face. To the crowd, it appeared to be nothing more than trash talk, but in reality, the conversation was a little more civilized.

Trish's eyes glanced over at Batista, before flicking back to Elektra. "I see you brought your backup."

Elektra, however, didn't take her eyes off Trish. "I see you brought yours."

Trish smiled, a bitter half-smile. "You ever wonder when it came down to this?"

Elektra cocked her head just slightly to the side. "When you called me a whore. And you?"

"When I first saw you with Triple H," Trish replied.

Elektra offered a small smile of her own. "So, let's end it."

Trish's smile vanished. "Bring it on."

The two Divas stepped apart. Earl Hebner, the referee assigned to the match, took the championship belt from Trish and held it in the air with both hands. He motioned for the bell.

Immediately, Trish flew at Elektra, battering her in the face with elbow forearms. Elektra was too surprised to even fight back; all she could do was raise up her own arms to ward off the blows. Her head snapped back each time Trish connected. Trish drove her into the corner, switching her attack to a flurry of Ric Flair-like chops. The first one knocked the air out of Elektra's lungs, and she struggled to force oxygen back into her body. Trish didn't give her that chance; chopping her again and again, the crowd "WOOO"-ing each time. The Women's Champion pulled back her hand for one last blow, then paused, a confident smile spreading across her face. Very deliberately, she leaned to the side and licked her palm, before rearing back for the final blow.

But this momentary hesitation gave Elektra enough time to take a breath or two and she kicked out with both feet, catching Trish in the midsection. Trish's eyes went wide, and she fell over backwards, clutching her abdomen in pain. Elektra pulled herself out of the corner, and knocked the Women's Champion back down with a two-handed fist to the spine. She flipped Trish onto her back, straddling her body, and grabbed two handfuls of blond hair, slamming Trish's head into the mat again and again.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Hebner grabbed her arm. "Watch the hair!" Elektra shot a glare at the senior referee and reluctantly got off Trish, her body as tensely coiled as that of a jungle cat. She circled the fallen Women's Champion, plotting her next move. That was one thing she had learned from the Game: always be patient when your opponent is down. Trish was definitely out of her game, struggling to get to her feet.

Elektra crouched down, preparing to pounce. When Trish straightened up, she ran toward the Women's Champion, arm outstretched for a clothesline. Her forearm was on the verge of making contact, then all of a sudden, Trish was bending backwards, and then disappearing from sight altogether. Elektra couldn't even stop herself in her confusion, and collided with the ropes. She looked back and realized that she had fallen victim to the Matrish. Trish neatly pulled herself upward from the bridge she had formed, and dashed toward Elektra with a clothesline of her own. This one connected, and both of them sailed over the top rope.

There was a loud roar of surprise from the fans. Elektra managed to break her fall with her arm, preventing a possible concussion. Her body, however, felt like it was on fire. It was true; those protective mats really weren't all that thick. Looking over, she saw that Trish was in bad shape as well. Crawling to her hands and knees, she straddled Trish's body again, throwing loose punches. One connected, then another. Elektra felt her knuckles hit bone, and pain flared up her arm, but she kept swinging. Up in the ring, Hebner was yelling for them to get back in the ring and beginning his count, but Elektra ignored him. All of her pain and frustration began pouring out in those punches.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off Trish. It must be Tomko asserting himself in the match. If he kept this up, the match would end in a DQ. Of course, at the moment, a disqualification was the least of her worries. Then Tomko abruptly released his hold on her hair. Elektra moved away and turned around to see Batista hurl Tomko onto the steel steps with a massive spinebuster. She realized that once again, he had saved her.

Batista looked up, saw her, and quickly stepped toward her. "Are you all right?" she heard him ask. She didn't get a chance to respond because once again, a hand grabbed her hair. This was ridiculous. If she made it out alive, she was going to seriously consider shaving her head. This time it was Trish, who had recovered sufficiently to roll back into the ring and who was now yanking her up onto the apron. The Women's Champion let go, and nailed Elektra with a huge slap, almost knocking her back off the apron. She pulled back for a second, but Elektra ducked down between the ropes and hit Trish in the midsection with a shoulder block, then another. Trish staggered back, and Elektra was able to enter the ring.

She grabbed Trish's arm, twisting it up painfully behind her back. Trish struggled, then spun out of the hold, turning it back on the challenger. Elektra gritted her teeth. Her arm felt like it was going to pop out of the socket. She mimicked Trish, spinning out of the hold and swinging the Women's Champion around toward the corner in an Irish whip. Trish reversed the momentum and now Elektra was the one headed for the corner. In that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl, and she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Years ago, Elektra had seen footage of Rob Van Dam executing a split-legged moonsault, and had become enamored with the move. When she started traveling on the circuit, she practiced it every chance she got. The first time she tried to execute the back flip, she almost killed herself. But she kept at it, getting a little better each time, until she could practically do it in her sleep. Training with Lita and Trish months ago, she had kept this particular move to herself, wanting to keep at least one secret weapon in her arsenal. And now, she was about to test its effectiveness in the biggest match of her life.

She reached the corner, but instead of colliding with the turnbuckle, she jumped to the second rope. Jumping once again, she swung her legs around and up to the front in a near perfect split. Her calves hit the top rope, and she used the momentum to arch her body backward into a moonsault. As she fell back toward the ring, she saw Trish beneath her, her mouth wide open in shock and awe. The Women's Champion caught her awkwardly, and the force sent them both crashing to the mat. Elektra heard an "OOF!" as all of the air was driven out of Trish's lungs. The referee was at her side, his hand slamming down on the mat. 1...2..._3_.

For a moment, Elektra thought that she must be dreaming. She couldn't have won; Trish had to have kicked out. But then she felt a tap on her shoulder, and looked up to see Earl Hebner handing her the red and gold Women's Championship belt. Elektra took it hesitantly, reverently, then crushed it to her chest, tears of happiness spilling down her face.

Batista was at her side, pulling her to her feet, lifting her up onto his shoulders. The arena was buzzing; everyone still reeling from the "Holy shit!" moment they had just witnessed. There were still boos, but there was also a grudging show of respect. Despite their personal feelings about Elektra, she had won the match on her own.

From her six-foot-high vantage point, Elektra hoisted the title belt into the air, looking around at the thousands of faces surrounding her...and loving every minute of it.

* * *

When she got backstage, the Superstars hanging around back there stopped what they were doing and gave her a round of reluctant applause. She could tell from the expressions on their faces that they still didn't trust her. But she had won the match clean, and they couldn't deny that.

Batista leaned down, putting a supporting arm around her shoulders. "Let's go back to the locker room." The huskiness in his voice filled her with need...and also brought back to mind the unpleasant task before her. Triple H would be pleased at her championship victory, but he was not going to like what would follow.

As they walked down the hallway and turned a corner, Elektra looked down the opposite corridor and saw a familiar figure stretching in preparation for his main event match. The new Women's Champion stopped, and pushing past Batista, ran down the hall. "Benoit!" she called.

The Rabid Wolverine looked up, but seeing that it was her, resumed his warmup.

"Benoit!" Elektra reached the World Heavyweight Champion, and had to bend over to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees. Her back was killing her, and her hands still hurt from throwing those punches. Benoit finally stopped and glared at her.

"What do _you_ want?" he growled.

His brusque comment hit Elektra in the face like a well-placed slap, but she shook it off. "Eugene...I wanted to ask how he's doing."

Benoit stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. He was a few inches shorter than her, but no less intimidating. "He just had the shit beaten out of him last week by his 'friends'. How the hell do you _think_ he's doing?"

Elektra drew in a breath sharply. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Look, Benoit...I'm _sorry_ about what happened last week–"

"You can just shut your lying mouth!" Benoit snapped. "You're just like the rest of Evolution: you don't give a _shit_ about Eugene!"

"I tried to _save_ him!" Elektra shot back, attempting to keep her emotions in check. One thing to be said about Chris Benoit: he definitely excelled in getting under your skin.

Benoit glanced briefly at the title belt draped across her shoulder. "Oh, yeah?" His gaze flicked back to her. "'Cause it looks like you didn't try very hard." His voice grew low and dangerous, his Canadian accent making his words sound even more clipped and terse. "What Eugene needs right now is support from his _real_ friends...not fake sympathy from Evolution's _whore_." He pushed her aside roughly, not even bothering to excuse himself.

Elektra could only stand there frozen, replaying over and over what the Rabid Wolverine had said. Her heart felt as though someone had rolled it through a pool of broken glass. Tears slowly pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. What could she possibly say to contradict Benoit's words when so much of it had been the truth?

"Babe!" Triple H grabbed Elektra by the shoulder and spun her around, pulling her into a deep lingering kiss. Elektra was too surprised to respond. She had never seen the Game this affectionate before. Triple H pulled back and slung an arm around her shoulder, swinging her around. She saw for the first time that the rest of Evolution was with him: Flair, Batista, and even Orton. At the sight of the Legend Killer, Elektra pressed her body a little bit closer to the Game's. But there was nothing but admiration on the face of Randy Orton. If he was faking it, he deserved an Academy Award. Triple H, in the meanwhile, was busy singing her praises. "Take a good look, guys, at your _new_ Women's Champion! Did you _see_ this girl in the ring? Lefts, rights; over the top rope and jumps right back up again. And that finisher...you have a name for that move yet?" Elektra started to speak, but Triple H cut her off. "I tell you–this is a sign of good things to come. Next week, after I finish off Benoit once and for all in that Ironman Match and win back the World Heavyweight Championship–it's gonna be the good old days all over again! But tonight–" he leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. "–we are going to party it up Evolution style! And then later...you and I will have a party of our own."

When he said that, Elektra felt the peculiar sensation of time slowing down again. In a flash, she saw both paths that were available to her at this moment, and what awaited her at the end of each. If she stayed true to her word, if she chose to leave Triple H...then she would finally be happy. But the Game would never accept it. He would see it as a loss to Evolution, and he would hunt her down, use every possible influence with Bischoff to ruin her life. Batista said that he would always protect her, but could he really withstand the awesome maelstrom that was the wrath of Triple H?

But on the other hand, if she stayed with Triple H, she would be able to keep him at bay. Not even Orton would be able to touch her now, because she was finally worth something. She wasn't just Elektra anymore, she was the _Women's Champion_, and if there was one thing that Triple H respected, it was title gold. True, it still didn't mean that he cared about her, but as long as she held this title, she would certainly hold his attention. It would afford her the safety of Evolution, and neither she nor Batista would have to fear any possible retribution from the Game.

In that moment, Elektra met Batista's eyes. She could tell by the hope flickering in their dark depths that he was expecting her to use this moment to break free of Triple H once and for all. Elektra felt her heart twist painfully as she realized that she was about to disappoint him. _I'm sorry, Dave..._she thought sadly as she steeled herself to make the hardest decision in her life.

Elektra looked up at the Game, who was staring back at her with the first genuine smile she had seen since arriving. "Hunter, there's just one thing I have to say..." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Batista tense. Inside, her heart snapped in two, but outwardly, she let her lips curl into a smile. "Who says we have to wait until later?" Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled Triple H down into a passionate kiss of her own, sparking a series of "WOOOs!" from Flair.

Triple H pulled back and looped his arm around her waist. "_That's _more like it! Let's roll!" And with that, Evolution set off down the hallway toward the locker room.

All except Batista, who hung back, still wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

Trish Stratus hurried down the hallway, tossing distracted "Byes!" at other Superstars as they packed up and left for their respective hotels. As much as she'd like to head off and catch some sleep as well, she had a purpose in mind, and nothing could distract her from it. She finally turned down a vacant side corridor and saw, up near the end, Evolution's Animal leaning against the wall.

As soon as he saw her coming toward him, Batista immediately became defensive. "Hey, hey, I had _nothing_ to do with what happened out there tonight–"

Trish held up her hand, and he fell silent. "I know," she replied quietly. "That's why I'm here." Batista looked at her warily, and eventually settled back into his original posture. Trish paused for a few moments, trying to organize her thoughts. "Batista...you had a million chances to trip me up out there tonight, but you didn't." She took a cautious step forward. "In fact, the only time you _did_ interfere was when Tomko put his hands on Elektra."

Batista rolled his eyes. "Look, Trish, what's your point? You saying I'm not evil enough out there? That I should be breaking the rules at every opportunity, just like Ric Flair taught me?"

"I saw the way you looked at her!" Trish interjected. She stopped and looked around for any possible eavesdroppers. No one was there; the arena was quiet. She lowered her voice anyway. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Batista looked away, but the little muscle twitching near his jaw betrayed his emotions.

Trish continued. "Don't worry; the last thing I'm going to start doing is ratting you out to Triple H. That guy makes my skin crawl." She stared hard at Batista. "But I do want to know what exactly you're trying to prove. I mean, you know she's with Hunter–"

It was like something snapped inside Batista. He pushed himself off the wall, coming toward Trish. The former Women's Champion backed up, wondering if she had just made a crucial mistake. "You think I'm trying to _prove_ something?" Batista growled, his tone harsh. "I'm the only friend she has–the only _protector_ she had left anymore. Hunter can't do _shit_–he couldn't even get rid of Orton when he had the chance." A flicker of rage crossed his face, and Trish shrank involuntarily. "Not even after that shithead tried to rape her." Trish gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, but the Animal was too wrapped up in his rant to notice. "But no matter what he does...no matter how many times he fucks up...she still won't leave him." He looked down, seeming to notice Trish for the first time. "You want to know how I feel about her?" His voice was a harsh whisper. "The truth is that she's _everything _to me. She's the only person in this business that I care about...and I can't even save her." His eyes were filled with hopelessness. "I can't even save her." he repeated.

Trish was silent for several moments. When she did speak, it was more like she was musing to herself. "All those things she said...about living in hell...they were the truth. She was telling me the truth all along...and I was too angry, too stubborn to believe her." She looked up at Batista again. "Dave, you've got to get her out of there!"

Batista shrugged his shoulders, again displaying that helplessness. It seemed so strange, coming from such a big man. "I don't know how anymore." he admitted.

"Then you've got to figure out _how_!" Trish shot back, punching Batista in the chest. Her vehemence seemed to surprise them both. Trish calmed herself and lowered her voice. "Look, I don't hate her. Yes, I'm angry that I lost the Women's Championship, but I don't _hate her_ for it. Ever since the beginning, I've been trying to save her from that life. I gave up because I assumed that she didn't want to be saved. But after what you told me..."

Batista seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Trish hit him in the chest again. "Hey, look at me." He did. "What Chris Jericho did to me...it almost killed me...and by the time I finally figured out the truth...it was too late, too late for either of us." She stared hard at the Animal. "But it's not too late for you. Dave, that girl _loves_ you. I saw it in her eyes, in the way she looks at you. I know it even if she doesn't." She sighed. "But she is _terrified_ of being alone, and for some reason that even _I_ don't understand, she thinks that she's safest with Triple H. Maybe it's in her own mind, maybe he's got some hold on her–I don't know. All I know is that deep down, she doesn't _want_ to be with him." Trish paused, catching her breath. "And if you don't make the first move, if you don't do _something_, you're going to wake up one day and realize that she's become just like him." Her face softened. "I _know_ she's not really the vindictive bitch that we've all come to hate. That girl we see out in the ring...that's not the girl you fell for, is it?"

Batista didn't respond at first, didn't even _move_. Finally, he shook his head, a quick brusque movement.

Trish continued. "Listen, I can explain her situation to the other Divas, get them to be more supportive so she'll have someone other than you to talk to. But I'll do this only on one condition."

"And that is?" Batista replied, fully expecting her to ask for a rematch.

Trish's gaze turned steely. "_Get her out of Evolution_. I don't care how you do it, but _get her out_–before it kills her."

She fell silent, and the two of them stood there wondering if Trish had just asked the impossible.


	17. Chapter 17: Delusions of Grandeur

Chapter 17: Delusions of Grandeur

SummerSlam had finally arrived. Superstars from Raw and Smackdown were milling around the parking lot at the AirCanada Center when Evolution's vehicle pulled up. The rear door opened, and Triple H stepped out, pausing long enough to extend a helping hand to Elektra. The Women's Champion accepted gracefully, easing her long legs out of the car and rising to a standing position. She smiled at the Game, and kissed him on the cheek. An expression somewhere between a grin and a smirk blossomed on Triple H's face, and he possessively took her hand in his. The rest of Evolution filed out behind them; Flair and Orton from the front, Batista from the remaining rear seat. Together, they formed a solid and very intimidating unit, one that continued to dominate the competition on Monday Night Raw despite their obvious lack of title gold. But with two members of Evolution competing in title matches tonight, maybe their luck would finally change for the better.

Even though Evolution was composed of four of the most talented and imposing Superstars, everyone's eyes were drawn to Elektra. Most of the male Superstars, regardless of their own personal distaste for her, had to grudgingly admit that she looked stunning tonight. Wearing a white minidress cut down almost to her naval and displaying the Women's Championship proudly on one shoulder, Elektra was brimming with a newfound confidence that had possessed her ever since her title victory a month ago. Her in-ring skills had improved, and so had her 'support' outside the ropes. Many a Superstar had tasted defeat because of her outside interference. But most importantly of all, her relationship with Triple H, on the verge of ending a month ago, was better than ever. From the way they were holding hands, they looked like an affectionate couple, and behind the scenes, they were as close to normal as either of them was capable of being.

None of this was lost on Batista, who tried to prevent his eyes from straying to her as they walked to the locker room. Ever since Elektra had chosen to stay with Triple H, he had sensed an emotional distance growing between them. It was almost as though subconsciously, she was starting to believe what the Game joked about all the time: that Batista was nowhere near her league. He didn't think that her feelings for him had diminished, but now that her stock was rising, now that she had a shoulder to lean on other than his, it felt like she was using their romance simply to keep herself from being bored. More and more, it seemed like _he_ was the one putting his heart on the line while she kept herself at a distance, like the geeky kid trying to win the heart of the most popular girl in school. Batista did not enjoy that feeling. It made him think that he was being used. The problem was, he didn't really know how to address it.

Trish's ultimatum came back to him. _Get her out of Evolution_...Well, he was doing a bang-up job. So far, all he had managed to do was sent her right back into Hunter's arms. Just the sight of them holding hands was enough to incite the rage of the inner Animal. It paced back and forth within him, snarling and biting the bars of its prison. And all he could do was grit his teeth and look around for something to tear apart. Both Chris Jericho and Edge would be feeling the brunt of his frustration and rage tonight.

Evolution turned the corner, and nearly collided with a Superstar coming from the opposite direction. Triple H's relaxed expression turned into undisguised hatred at the sight of the World Heavyweight Champion.

Chris Benoit, never the soul of tact or humility, flashed a mocking smile at the Game, exposing the gap in his top row of teeth. Without saying a word, he lifted the massive gold title belt off his shoulder and held it only a few inches away from Triple H's face. The Game looked from the World Title to the Rabid Wolverine, his features quivering with anger.

Before both Superstars could come to blows, Elektra stepped deftly between them, forcing both men to back up a few steps. She looked over at Benoit, a sneer touching her lips. "Take a good long at that title, Chris, 'cause it's coming back to Evolution _tonight_."

Benoit focused on her. "Oh, so now the great Triple H can't even speak for himself anymore; he has to get his _woman _to talk for him."

Triple H finally found his voice. "She's just stating a simple fact, Benoit. No harm in that." He smiled, having regained his earlier confidence. "I see you're eyeing her belt. Appropriate... since the women's division is the only thing you'll be good for after Orton beats you tonight."

Benoit lowered the belt back onto his shoulder, the grin gone. "Is this another one of your 'fluke' speeches, Hunter? 'Cause if it is, I've heard them before...and I've still been able to beat you three times." His gaze flicked to Orton, then back to Triple H. "In fact, after Eugene gets down beating the holy hell out of _you_ tonight...you'll be lucky if the women's division will take you."

The Game's expression didn't change. "Yeah, but remember, Benoit...you're not facing me tonight. Tonight...you're going up against _the Legend Killer_: _Randy Orton_. So if you're going to play mind games...make sure you're messing with the right opponent. Let's go." He pulled Elektra close, and the five of them walked around Benoit, taking care to bump into him, not enough to knock him over but just enough to give him a hint.

The Rabid Wolverine stared after them, his eyes burning with the fierce intensity that had earned him the World Heavyweight Championship. He didn't doubt that defending the title against Randy Orton would be the hardest challenge he had faced so far.

* * *

Randy Orton strolled down the hall, his face lit up with a self-satisfied smirk. In a little while, he would find someplace quiet to mentally prepare for his match. But as for right now..he was just enjoying himself, enjoying the atmosphere of SummerSlam, drinking in the adrenaline and electricity that can only come from the excited cheers of thousands of fans. Of course, the majority would be booing him, but Orton wasn't fazed by them. Just like he wasn't fazed by the glares from passing Superstars. At one point or another, he had beaten most of them, and besides, they were just jealous because out of all the Superstars in the WWE, he was one of the raw few who had been awarded a title shot for tonight.

Orton smiled as he thought about it, his expression becoming almost beatific. He would win the World Heavyweight Championship tonight, and after that...things were going to change on Raw. As the champion, it was only right that he be designated to lead Evolution into the future, instead of Triple H. And as the new leader...who better to be at his side than the Women's Champion? It wasn't just right, it was _destiny_. Even Elektra, with all her contempt and attitude, couldn't deny the logic of this. She would come to him, and Orton felt a sudden stirring of lust at the thought of finally bedding her himself.

He reached the Evolution locker room, and noticed with a frown that the door was slightly ajar. All of the Evolution members made a point of closing the door. After all, they didn't need the rest of the Raw roster trampling through their personal space, and besides, the Evolution locker room was a place to talk strategy or (if you happened to be Triple H) engage in a little pre-match 'encouragement' with your girlfriend.

Orton reached for the knob, and saw a flash of movement from within the room. Pressing his eye to the crack, he was treated to the sight of Elektra in her Diva Dodgeball uniform. She was bending over to lace her boots, one foot already propped up on the bench, and Orton used the opportunity to stare at the ample cleavage pushing up out of her white tank top. He slowly licked his lips, the smirk on his face becoming a leer. How could Hunter ignore a body like that?

Suddenly another figure stepped into view, and Orton felt a surge of irritation at the sight of the Animal. What the hell was Dave doing here? Orton waited for him to step around her or get something from one of the shelves. But Batista did neither of those things. Instead, he reached down, and gently pushed a stray strand of hair back from Elektra's face, his fingers trailing along the curve of her cheek. The Women's Champion looked up at him, and smiled. Orton had never seen her smile like that before, not even for Hunter. He realized that he had never seen it because it was real.

Still caressing her cheek, Batista bent down slightly, covering her mouth with his own. Orton kept waiting for Elektra to pull away, but instead she stood up and pressed her body closer to Batista's, running her hand down his massive chest as she kissed him.

Orton slowly backed away from the door, the triumph of his discovery overshadowed by the searing rage filling his every pore. That bitch...she had freaked out and cried rape when _he_ tried to touch her, but she was willing to spread her legs for the Animal. Orton looked around frantically, trying to find an object with which to vent his rage. His eyes lit upon a folding chair, leaning innocently up against the wall. Grabbing it, he swung it at the wall as hard as he could, pretending that he was aiming for Elektra. The impact bent back the metal frame several inches. Lifting the chair up, Orton hurled it down the hall and stormed off in the opposite direction.

He found a small niche, and leaned back against the wall inside, massaging his forehead with one hand. There was a painful throbbing sensation in his temple. The Legend Killer was aware that if he let this situation get to him any more, he ran the risk of sabotaging his title match later on tonight. Orton took some deep breaths, trying to clear his head. No matter how mad he was, he would not allow the bitch to ruin his evening. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose.

Orton heard footsteps and looked up to see Batista storm past him, a pissed-off expression on his face. He was probably looking for the source of the noise. Luckily for the Legend Killer, Batista never even glanced to his left. As soon as the Animal's footsteps faded, Orton sidled up to the corner, looking off to his left, then to his right. Seeing no sign of Batista, he stepped back out into the hall and walked quietly back to the Evolution locker room. The door was still ajar. Orton quickly pushed it open, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

Elektra's back was to him, and she seemed to be preoccupied with arranging an assortment of bottles and vials on her shelf. Orton stepped closer and closer, hands outstretched. He was almost within reach when Elektra turned around. "Did you find–" Her voice trailed off when she saw Orton.

For a moment, the two of them stood there, frozen. Then Elektra moved with a blur of speed, grabbing a small canister off the shelf and putting several steps between her and Orton. "Get away from me." Her tone was low and menacing, but there was a definite undercurrent of fear in her face and voice.

Orton held up his hands, grinning. His eyes, however, blazed with a fanatical light. "Relax...I'm not here to hurt you."

"Oh, like _last time_?" Elektra retorted. "I'm serious, Randy. _Back the fuck up_, or this goes in your fucking eyes."

Orton rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "_Fine_, whatever you want." He backed up until he hit the opposite wall, his hands still in the air. "How's this?"

Elektra didn't answer. Without lowering her arm or taking her eyes off Orton, she side-stepped over to another bench, straddling it and sitting down warily. Then, and only then, did she bring the canister down to her side.

Orton eyed the object still clenched tightly in her fist. "What _is _that, hair spray?"

"Try pepper spray." Elektra replied. Her body was still tense, as though she was prepared for either fight or flight.

"Oh, _come on_!" Orton protested. "Is that really necessary?"

Elektra's expression didn't change. "You made it necessary."

Orton smiled, showing off that usual confidence and arrogance he had become so known for. "Calm down. Like I said, I didn't come here to molest you." His grin grew wider. "Beside, it looked like Dave was doing a pretty good job of _that_ before I came in."

Elektra flinched, a small movement, but Orton latched onto it like a bloodhound on a scent. In that split-second, she had shown the first crack in her armor. Just as quickly, though, she had reverted to her previous expression of indifference. "Look, Randy, whatever you _thought _you saw–"

Orton threw his head back and laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell Hunter. I'm not like _you_." He looked back at her, and his smile became icy. "But I do expect you to play nice in return."

Elektra propped one leg up on the bench, bringing the hand with the pepper spray casually around her knee so that the canister was still between her and Orton. "Explain." was all she said. But inside, she was shaking. She knew that whatever was going to come out of the Legend Killer's mouth was not going to be pretty, and it would involve her paying a hefty price eventually.

Orton straightened up, and with the toe of his boot, dragged over a nearby folding chair. Flipping it around, he sat and leaned forward against the back, propping his arms up. "In a little while," he began. "I'm going to make history by becoming the youngest World Heavyweight Champion. Once that happens, Monday Night Raw will never be the same...and neither will Evolution." He sat back a little. "Who better to lead the most dominant force in the WWE than the World Champion? No offense...Hunter's done a great job, but let's face it: it's time for him to step down. It's my time, it's _Randy Orton's time_ to step up and take Evolution to the next level." Orton's face was becoming flushed. He was really warming to the subject. "And once that's done, who better to stand beside me than the Women's Champion, Elektra?"

Something passed across Elektra's face. It looked like revulsion. "_Please_ tell me you have a point."

Orton scowled, but it was brief. "Touchy, aren't we? Look, everyone knows that there's no combination more powerful than the World Champion and the Women's Champion. You and I...we're perfect for each other. Young, hungry...hell, we haven't even reached our _prime _yet and we're both champions. Join me and we'll be running Raw within a week. After a month, the entire wrestling world will fall at our feet."

Elektra tilted her head to the side, studying the Legend Killer appraisingly. "And if I say no to your little proposal?"

Orton's smile vanished. In its place was that all-too-familiar expression of contempt and hatred. "Then I tell Hunter all about your little sex-capades with the Animal."

For a while, Elektra didn't answer. Then, the corners of her mouth began to twitch and she began to laugh unexpectedly, peals of high-pitched mocking laughter.

Orton's smug expression clouded with wrath. "What's so fucking funny?" he demanded.

Elektra calmed herself down. "You," she answered, between an occasional giggle. "You actually think that you can come in here, with your delusions of grandeur, and try to _blackmail_ me? Are you _high_ or something?" She began to laugh again.

Orton stood up abruptly, pushing the chair aside. He took a step toward her. "Listen, you little–"

"No, Randy, now it's _your_ turn to _listen_." The laughter was gone from Elektra's face. Her eyes had become steely. In a flash, her arm was back up, the pepper spray aimed directly at him. She stood up as well. When she spoke, her words were laced with malice. "Do you _really_ think that Triple H is going to suddenly step down, just because you've won the World Heavyweight Championship, a title which–FYI–you still have yet to win. The Game isn't going to step down, Randy, not for you, not for me, not until he damn well pleases." She took a cautious step toward the Legend Killer. "And have you even stopped to consider the possibility that winning the World title will do nothing except put a huge bull's eye on your chest?" Her expression was now filled with contempt. "Oh, that's _right_. This is _Evolution_. I mean, they're your _friends_, your _brothers_. They would never _turn_ on you just because you won the richest prize in our business. Well, wake up and smell the fucking coffee, asshole. There's only one thing that the Game cares about, and it's the World Heavyweight Championship. He's betrayed closer friends than you to win that title, so quit acting like you're hot shit." Another cautious step forward.

"And as for your pathetic attempt at blackmail..." Elektra continued. "...Do you even realize that you're on thin fucking ice already for what you did to me?" Her voice fell to a derisive whisper. "The only reason you're still around is because Hunter needs you to win back the World Heavyweight Championship. Try as he might, he just can't beat Benoit. That's where you come in. If you pull it off tonight, then that means the Game is simply one step closer to winning back the title. All he'll have to do is go through you." Her lip curled in distaste. "So go tattle on me to Hunter. Tell him everything you know. The only thing you'll accomplish is that you'll make it easier for him to kick your ass. In fact..." A small smile appeared on her lips. "I might even cry rape this time, just for good measure. Don't forget, Randy, I've got a title of my own now. I've got Hunter's _respect_. I'm inclined to think that he just may believe me instead of you." The smile disappeared, and hatred blazed in her eyes. "What's the matter? Don't like the fact that I'm playing your games now? Well, get used to it. I've got the power now, and _I'm not afraid of you anymore_. You want to play mind games? _Fine_. But I'm gonna play them right back because I am _sick_ of being your victim!" She finally stopped for breath, her chest heaving.

Orton could only stare at her, speechless for once. He was practically foaming at the mouth. When he finally did speak, it was in a voice so cold and filled with venom that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight. "One day...you'll regret this." he growled. Turning on his heel, he threw the door open and stomped out, slamming it behind him.

Elektra finally relaxed, her hand falling back to her side. The canister of pepper spray slipped from her limp hand and rolled across the floor. She fell to her knees, her legs too rubbery to support her any longer. She didn't cry; she was still filled with too much adrenaline to shed tears. However, Orton's last words still rang in her mind, just the memory of his voice enough to turn the blood in her veins to ice water. _You'll regret this..._

_Maybe I already have..._she thought to herself.

* * *

A little further down the hall, Batista leaned against the wall, wiping his forehead. He had come back to the locker room just in time to hear Orton's proposal. And while the thought of it had made him sick, Elektra's response made him feel even worse. The way she had torn Orton down bit by bit...it was something she only could have learned from Triple H.

Batista realized suddenly that Trish's ultimatum had become more important than ever. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was starting to lose Elektra.


	18. Chapter 18: A Bitter Farewell

Chapter 18: A Bitter Farewell

The sound of Randy Orton's music was almost drowned out by the cheers of the three men (and one woman) in the Evolution locker room. As Orton took the title belt from Earl Hebner, and climbed to the second rope to display it proudly to the Toronto crowd, his compatriots were giving him their own ovation. Batista and Flair were in easy chairs, the Game was reclining on the couch. Elektra was stretched out next to him, her legs in his lap. He had ignored her for the majority of the match, but now that Evolution's most important hurdle had been cleared, Triple H's attention was once again on her and the celebration that would follow. Grabbing her leg, he pulled her into his lap, stealing a quick but passionate kiss. This brought on another round of cheers, all of them from Flair.

There was a timid knock at the door. It opened up a crack, and Todd Grisham, clutching his microphone like a security blanket, stuck his head in. "Hey, um, guys?" he said timidly. They paid him no mind. "Um...guys?" he asked again, a little louder this time. This time, four heads turned around. Seeing that it was only Todd, they all rolled their eyes, but stood up anyway for the obligatory interview.

Todd looked back and forth uncertainly, not surprising considering that he was standing in the midst of the most powerful faction on Monday Night Raw. "Um..." he stammered. "I just wanted to get your thoughts about Randy Orton winning the World Heavyweight Championship–"

The Game, however, silenced him with a quick wave of his hand. "Our thoughts?" He smirked, looking from Todd to the monitor to the other Superstars around him. "You...you actually think we're surprised? Todd, this is _Evolution_. We're the greatest force in this business, on _Earth_. You got the sixteen-time World Champion, the Nature Boy Ric Flair." Triple H slung an arm around Flair's neck, pulling him into a guy-hug. "Over here, you got the _Beast_, the _Animal_, Batista." He slapped Batista on the shoulder. "Right here...this is _the_ Women's Champion _and_ the hottest Diva in the WWE." Elektra put her hand on the Game's bicep, turning to flash a meaningful smile at Todd. Raw's backstage reporter turned bright red. Triple H continued. "Then there's me, the Game, the Cerebral Assassin, the best wrestler in the world today. And now, you've got Randy Orton, the _new_ World Heavyweight Champion! That's Evolution, baby! That's why we're the _best_!" The Game turned back to Todd. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a little celebrating to do."

Flair clapped Todd on the back, nearly knocking him over. "You know..._girls_...things you wouldn't like."

Grisham stumbled toward the door, mumbling "Thanks..." in a meek little voice. Batista made a shooing motion with his hand, and Todd finally left.

Triple H smirked, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Am I alone here...or has that guy _never_ been laid?" This brought a round of laughter from everyone. The Game finally cleared his throat, getting their attention again. "Listen, you two go get Orton. Elektra and I...well, there's something I need to go over with her."

Flair cackled, and elbowed Triple H playfully in the ribs. "You go, Champ! Come on, Dave." The Nature Boy left the room, and Batista followed, albeit a little reluctantly. When the door closed, the Game turned back to Elektra. The Women's Champion smiled, one that would have caused Todd Grisham to spontaneously combust.

"Moving a little fast tonight, aren't we? Normally, you'd at least buy me a drink first."

Triple H grinned. "No, actually, I really do have something to discuss with you." He put his hands on her waist, drawing her close to him. "It's about Orton and tomorrow night on Raw."

Elektra's smile never wavered, though it now looked a little forced. "I'm all ears, Hunter..."

* * *

Chris Benoit was not one to take defeat lightly. Even though Orton had won the match clean, without any assistance from Evolution, the Rabid Wolverine still decided to interrupt the Legend Killer's victory speech, demanding his rematch that very night. So it was with no small amount of trepidation that Orton sat in the Evolution locker room, checking his pads and boots, trying to ignore the lingering pain from last night's match. Taking the title from Benoit had been hell. Defending it against Benoit less than twenty-four hours later...that would require a small miracle. But then again, that was why they called him the Legend Killer.

Orton felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Triple H and Elektra standing next to him. The Game was smiling; Elektra was not. Before Orton even had a chance to speak, Triple H began.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that there's no way you can beat Chris Benoit two nights in a row. It's understandable: you're bruised and exhausted, and Benoit is mad as hell. He's going to spend just as much time punishing you as he is trying to go for a pin cover. And after all, Benoit is the best technical wrestler in this business, the wrestling _machine_." The Game leaned down, throwing an arm around Orton's shoulders. "But remember, you're the Legend Killer. You are the future of our industry. You went out there last night and you beat Chris Benoit in his own environment and at his own game. Who says you can't do it again? And keep in mind...Evolution has _always_ got your back." He paused and turned to Elektra. "Babe, wish the man good luck."

Elektra shot a look at Triple H as though he had just asked her to lick the back sweat off of the Big Show. But she sighed sullenly, and turned back to Orton. "Break a leg." she snapped. "In fact, break both of them."

Orton didn't move, but the hatred pouring out of his eyes took on a palpable air of its own. Triple H quickly but subtly placed himself between the two of them. "Behave yourself. This is the World Heavyweight Champion you're talking to." The Women's Champion pinched her lips together and moved back a step. The Game turned back to Orton. "Ignore her. Just remember that you're part of Evolution...and we _always _take care of our own."

* * *

The other Divas were talking amongst themselves and packing up their belongings during the main event. Only Elektra seemed to be actually watching the match, stretching while doing so. She extended one leg along the edge of the bench, then the other in the opposite direction, forming a perfect split. Onscreen, the other members of Evolution walked down to the ring, taking up positions on its various sides.

Victoria stopped what she was doing and looked over at Elektra. "Shouldn't you be out there too?"

Elektra reached down toward the floor, creating a nice flat back with her body. "I didn't help that asshole win the title in the first place; I'm certainly not going to help him keep it." Benoit was getting into an argument with the Game, who was still on the outside. The Rabid Wolverine turned around and was hit with a massive RKO. Orton quickly rolled him up for the pin cover. 1...2...3.

Victoria rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Way to go. Orton just proved that in a one-on-one situation, he needs the help of three other guys to keep a title."

"That's Orton for you." Elektra replied, straightening up. She pulled her legs back together and stood up. In the arena, the rest of Evolution had climbed into the ring. They were all smiling and congratulating Orton. Triple H patted him on the cheek and pulled him into a man-hug.

Elektra walked over to her cubbyhole, taking her Women's Championship off the top shelf. The other Divas had walked over to the monitor at this point, wondering why the First Lady of Evolution was showing such a lack of enthusiasm for Orton's victory. Elektra headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Gail Kim asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. On the screen, Batista had just hoisted Orton onto his shoulders. The Legend Killer was holding his title belt high in the air, overwhelmed with emotion.

Elektra turned back one last time. "I have some unfinished business." was all she said, before she was gone.

Gail frowned. "_That_ was weird." Looking back at the monitor, she saw Triple H give his protege a thumbs up, his smile just as big as Orton's. Then, as the Divas and the rest of the world watched, everything changed forever.

The Game's smile disappeared, replaced by a cold emotionless intensity. His eyes were boring into Orton's. Slowly, he turned his hand from a thumbs-up to a thumbs-down. Orton's elated expression faded, realization and fear dawning on his face. For the first time, the Legend Killer was afraid. Triple H turned his gaze to Batista. "Now!" he spat, pointing at the Animal.

Orton's lips moved soundlessly, pleading with the Game. But it was too late; the Animal fell backwards, hitting Orton with the Electric Chair. The Legend Killer's body bounced off the canvas.

"Oh my God!" Stacy Keibler screamed. She wasn't alone; the action evoked similar reactions from the rest of the Divas. Gail looked back at the door.

"She knew..." she murmured, more to herself than to the others. "She knew the whole time what they were going to do."

"Maybe," Everyone turned as Trish spoke up. The former Women's Champion stepped forward. "But how would that be any worse than what Orton did to her?" The Divas fell silent at the thought of this. Trish had explained the events at Vengeance to them shortly after her title loss. Just the thought that it could have been one of them instead of Elektra had made them more sympathetic to her. Trish continued. "So here's the real question: Do we stop her this time, or do we sit back and watch what happens?" She looked around at each of the faces before her.

One by one, the other Divas sat back down.

* * *

Elektra walked briskly down the hall, mentally replaying what Triple H had told her last night. _As of tomorrow night...Orton's time in Evolution is over. So now, you have a chance to make him pay for what he did to you_.

Never in her life had Elektra wanted retribution so badly. The fact that Orton had spent the last seven months terrorizing herself mentally and physically, pursuing her because of some obsession that she had done nothing to encourage, had slowly been eating away at her. She had lain awake some nights, imagining how satisfying it would be to stand over a fallen Randy Orton. The desire for revenge had infected her like a malignant cancer, and there was no returning from that point.

She came to the black curtain and stopped, stretching her neck from side to side, hearing the bones and tendons crack. Then she took a deep breath, and let her expression change into one of worry and concern. Backing up a few paces first, she plunged through the curtain out into the arena.

The fans' roars increased in intensity when they saw her. From the expression on her face, they were expecting her to treat this just like the Eugene situation, although Eugene was far more worthy of defending than the Legend Killer. In the ring, Flair and Batista had hauled Orton to his feet, just enough so that the Game could knock him back down with a vicious clothesline. Orton just lay there, not even trying to get back up. Triple H dropped to his knees, grabbing Orton's face and opening up with powerful right hands.

Elektra slid under the bottom rope and into the ring. She grabbed the Game by the arm. "Hunter, stop this! Please, stop it!"

Triple H jerked his arm free, but stopped long enough to stand up and glare at her. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted in her face, grabbing her by the arms.

Elektra struggled with him, pulling herself loose and running to Orton's side. Flair and Batista backed away, confusion written across their faces. Elektra knelt down, taking Orton's arm and putting it around her shoulders. Gently, she helped him to his feet.

By now, no one seemed to know what was going on. The fans didn't know whether to cheer or boo this tableau. Triple H's expression could have killed someone, but he hung back. Batista stared at the scene before him, knowing that something was happening; just not understanding exactly _what_.

Orton turned his head toward her, trying to see through the veil of blood in his eyes. His gaze finally focused on her. "You...wh-what are _you_ doing out here?" he mumbled, swaying back and forth unsteadily.

Elektra smiled, a rare beautiful smile that he thought he would never be the recipient of. "Isn't it obvious?" she whispered. Slowly, tenderly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. The fans' shouts grew louder, but it was still that unintelligible confused murmur. Was Elektra aligning herself with Orton now?

At first, Orton couldn't even respond. Then, he slowly brought his hands up, resting them on her bare back. For Batista, the sight of Orton's hands on Elektra turned his world into a wash of crimson. He wanted to tear the Legend Killer's limbs off one by one. Flair grabbed his arm. "No, Dave! Just wait...wait and see what happens." Batista wanted to tell Flair to go to hell, but he stopped and forced himself to watch.

As for Orton, he was wondering if perhaps this was all a bad dream. After all, why else would Evolution be beating him up and Elektra actually hugging him? Then again, if this were a dream, the feeling of her warm body pressed against his actually made him want to prolong waking up. Then Elektra's body stiffened. Her hand, resting lightly on the back of his neck, dug in like a claw, her nails sinking into his skin. Her mouth was right next to his ear, and her words...her words fell into his brain like needles.

"Remember what I said about being on thin ice?" she whispered, her voice full of hate. "Well, I think the ice just broke." Before Orton could even react to this, she dropped to her knees, and brought her forearm up between his legs as hard as she could. Orton bent over, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound coming out. Elektra stood up, stepped back, and then bashed Orton in the head with her Women's title with all of her strength.

Orton fell back, hitting the mat with tremendous force. Elektra was on him like a wild animal, straddling his body, hitting his face with her title belt and then with her fists, all the while screaming wordlessly, pouring out seven months worth of pain and rage and fear. She brought her hands around his neck and began to squeeze, watching Orton choke. "How does it feel now?" she spat. "How does it feel being helpless for once?" She leaned down close. "Don't you _ever, ever touch me again_, _you motherfucker_!" She squeezed harder. Orton turned various shades of red, then purple, as he struggled for oxygen. Elektra smiled, a cruel vicious smile.

From the other side of the ring, Batista could only watch as the Women's Champion took down the Legend Killer. Part of him was ecstatic to see Orton getting the crap beaten out of him by a woman, a woman he had terrorized, no less. But that satisfaction was overshadowed by the expression on Elektra's face. He realized that she was enjoying it; not the retribution, but just the sheer cruelty of the act itself. That could have been Triple H out there; their postures and expressions were so similar. Batista didn't recognize her anymore. Gone was the girl he had fallen head over heels for. In her place was the one thing he'd been dreading; someone who loved the darkness as much as Hunter did.

Batista just couldn't stand by and watch the woman he cared about turn into a monster. Striding across the ring, he grabbed her arm and yanked her off Orton. Elektra twisted free, turning to glare at him. "What the hell is your problem?" she yelled. Batista stared at her, confused. In that moment, there was no tenderness for him in her eyes, no compassion, no feeling whatsoever. There was nothing to indicate that she had ever cared about him. Elektra backed away, heading to the side of the Game. Without pausing, she jumped into his arms, kissing him hungrily. When she pulled back, she looked up at the audience and licked her lips, as though she had just tasted blood and liked it.

Triple H laughed, setting her back down and returning to Orton. A Batista Bomb and a Pedigree followed, and Orton was laid out on the canvas. Slowly, almost mockingly, Triple H laid the title belt across Orton's chest, then grabbed the hands of Elektra and Flair, hoisting them into the air. Elektra grabbed Batista's hand, raising it up as well. The crowd's boos were deafening, but that was the least of Batista's concerns. All he could see in his mind's eye was the emptiness in Elektra's grey eyes.

* * *

Elektra zipped up her suitcase. Since returning to the women's locker room, she had been met with silence. After her display of violence in the ring, none of the other Divas really knew what to say at this point. She could tell that all of them were wondering when she would turn this brutality on one of them. Elektra could have told them that unless they happened to be Orton, they really didn't have anything to worry about. But she kept her mouth shut, preferring to stay quiet after that outpouring of emotion.

As she rolled her suitcase out into the hall, her arm was seized in a firm grip. She turned indignantly toward its owner. "Hey, what's the–" Her voice trailed off when she saw it was Batista. Tugging her arm gently, he led her down the hall into a vacant changing room. Elektra let him, feeling that familiar powerlessness that came over her whenever she was around him. Once inside, Batista closed the door and then planted his huge body between her and the only exit. For several long uncomfortable moments, neither one of them spoke. Then the Animal was the one to break the silence.

"What the hell happened out there tonight?" His voice was quiet, but filled with emotion.

Elektra stared at him incredulously. "What happened? You know what happened. Randy Orton finally got what was coming to him tonight." She lowered her voice. "You know what they say: karma is a _bitch_."

"No, what I meant was: what happened out there with _you_?" A touch of irritation had seeped into Batista's voice.

Elektra felt herself getting defensive, and hated the feeling. But she didn't think that she needed to explain her actions after all that she had been through. "Are you _kidding _me? That bastard made my life a living hell for months. You saw what he tried to do to me at Vengeance; believe me, he deserved everything and worse." She stepped closer, enunciating her words very clearly. "I could have finished him off myself out there if _you_ hadn't stepped in and stopped me. What's your problem? Are you sticking up for him now?"

"_Goddammit_!" Batista shouted, slamming his fist against the door. His outburst startled Elektra, and she backed up hastily until she hit the wall behind her. Batista stared at her, trying to figure out when she had ever made him so infuriated. "I'm not _talking_ about Orton. I don't give a damn about what happened to that piece of shit! I'm talking about _you_!" Elektra was taken aback. Batista continued, his voice still harsh with emotion. "When you were choking him...I saw the look on your face. You looked just Hunter out there." He shook his head. "God, you were actually enjoying it."

Elektra was stunned. The validity of Batista's words hit her like a brick. He was right; after all this time, she had given herself over to the darkness, and she had liked it. Elektra had been fighting for so long against that black pit within herself; she had never imagined that her dreams of revenge could have opened her up to it. She could make all the excuses that she wanted; she could say that Orton had deserved it, but the point was that when she was in that ring, her hands around the Legend Killer's throat, she could have killed him and enjoyed every second of it. The thought of getting pleasure from something so sadistic made her sick.

Batista was staring at her again. "Do you even care about me anymore?"

The sudden change in topic threw Elektra off-balance. She struggled to switch gears. "I've never stopped." she answered softly. "You know that."

Batista shook his head. "See, you say that, but I don't think you really mean it. Last month...you were ready to leave Hunter. Half an hour ago, you were making out with him in the ring." His gaze bore into her. "I can't help but feel that I'm wasting my time."

Elektra pushed herself from the wall, stepping forward again. "Dave, no, it's not that–"

"Then what is it?" Batista interrupted. "Huh? What are we doing? I can't touch you in public, or even look at you too long because Hunter might get suspicious. We sneak around in the locker room and the hallways like a couple of thieves. Tell me, what the _hell_ kind of relationship is that?"

Elektra threw her hands up into the air, exasperated. "Look, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to leave Hunter!" Batista shouted. "That's all I've ever wanted!"

"Well, it's not that simple!" Elektra shot back.

"Oh, stop with that bullshit answer!" Batista retorted. "That's what you say every time we have this conversation: 'It's not that simple." How hard is it to walk up to a man and say 'It's over. Goodbye.' Boom. End of story." Now Batista was the one who stepped forward. "I'll tell you why it's so hard. It's not because you _can't_ leave Hunter; it's because you _don't want to_."

Elektra's mouth dropped open in shock. "How dare you!" she yelled, her eyes turning the color of quicksilver.

Batista didn't seem to hear her. "Let me tell you something: things may seem all right now, but one day, you're going to lose that championship of yours, and things will go back to the way they used to be, and all of a sudden, you're unhappy and you want your old friend Dave to offer you a shoulder to cry on. Well, I'm _sick_ of being your kickstand. There's only one thing I want to be to you, and that's the one thing you won't allow!"

"What if I did allow it?" Elektra replied hotly. This response was enough to silence the Animal. Elektra stepped forward, one step, then another. "What if, right now, in this room, we satisfy that hunger we've both felt since the first day we met?" Slowly, without taking her eyes off Batista, she laid down her Championship belt, then straightened back up. "I want you..." she whispered. "So take me..."

Batista stared at her, at the curves of her body beneath the white halter top and jeans. His breathing grew heavier. All of a sudden, he crossed the room, pushing her against the opposite wall.

Elektra heard herself moan softly. Her whole body was aching for him. She closed her eyes, waiting for that delicious sensation of skin against skin. But it never came.

Without touching her, Batista leaned down next to her ear, his breath warm on her skin. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now." His voice was tightly controlled. He must be holding back with everything he had. "If this were any other time, believe me, I would be tearing your clothes off and taking you right here on the floor. But that's not what's going to happen now." He paused for a moment. "I don't want some one-night-stand that we never talk about again. I want to hold you in my arms and know that it's because you love me, not him. Maybe you can sit around and wait for things to change, but I can't...not anymore. I'm tired of waiting around for you, Elektra. So have a nice life." His voice fell to a whisper. "You and Hunter deserve each other." Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled away, and without looking back, walked away.

Elektra could only stand frozen in place for several minutes, as the full meaning of Batista's words finally sank in. Wrapping her arms around herself, she fell to her knees, then collapsed fully onto the floor. Everything, all of her senses, had become numb. The room's colors faded to a dreary grey. Surrounding by this sensory overload of despair, Elektra began to weep.


	19. Chapter 19: Tough Love

**Author's Note: It occurred to me that I have not given a shout-out to my wonderful reviewers in a while. You guys are awesome! Your feedback has been great, especially since these last few chapters have been (emotionally) really hard for me to write. So give yourself a hand! You deserve it! Hopefully, you'll enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 19: Tough Love

"Babe?...Babe?...Elektra?"

Elektra turned from the car window. "What?" She realized that she was being spoken to. Triple H had twisted around in the driver's seat, turning back to stare at her impatiently. "Oh, sorry, Hunter. I guess I was just daydreaming."

The Game looked at her as though he'd like to debate this point, but he let it go. "I said we're here. Beautiful Milwaukee." He turned to look out his window. "Overrated, if you ask me." Receiving no answer, he glanced back at her. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

Elektra shook her head quickly, as though trying to clear away cobwebs. "No...I'm just sleepy from the drive here. I'll be fine tonight, I promise." Her lips curled into a tiny smile that disappeared just as fast. "I mean, how hard is it to throw a bunch of other Divas over the top rope?" She unbuckled her seat belt, and both she and Triple H exited the car, along with Ric Flair, who had been riding shotgun. Elektra opened up the trunk, and reached for her suitcase, but the Game stepped in and lifted it out for her. Setting it on the ground, he took her chin in his hand and gently forced her head up until her eyes met his. "Seriously, what's with you lately? You don't smile, you don't laugh...it's like you don't even have a personality anymore."

Elektra pulled away, showing a flash of irritation. "I _told_ you, Hunter, I'm _fine_. I've just been stressed out, that's all." She absently pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Besides, you should stop worrying about me and started thinking about who you're going to face tonight at Taboo Tuesday." She pulled up the handle of her suitcase and tipped it over onto its wheels. "I'm going to go change. I'll come by when I'm ready." She walked away toward the locker rooms, rolling the suitcase behind her.

Triple H walked around to the side of the car, leaning back against the vehicle and crossing his arms over his chest. Flair joined him, adopting a similar pose. Together, they watched Elektra turn a corner and disappear from sight.

The Game sighed. Flair could tell from his body language that the World Heavyweight Champion was testy. "I don't get it, Ric. She's been like this for two months now. At first, I thought it was just something that _I_ did, but now...I just don't know." He turned to Flair. "I mean, what more does she want from me? I've won the World title, I've paid more than enough attention to her, I've even–on your advice, remember?–bought her that bracelet she liked. But none of it makes any difference. No matter what I do, she always acts so unhappy, so _distracted_." Triple H faced forward again. "Normally, I wouldn't care, but it's starting to affect her performance in the ring. She's making mistakes, getting sloppy. We both know that if you hadn't been there at ringside at Unforgiven, she would have lost her title a month ago."

"Yeah," Flair agreed. "Man, that was shitty of Dave, begging off at the last second. _Everyone_ knows that she always wrestles better when he's at ringside." The Nature Boy shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it, though. You know women. They go through these _phases_. Just give her a while, and she'll snap out of it."

"Yeah, well, this little 'phase' of hers is really starting to piss me off." The Game replied, sounding peevish. The two men fell silent again. Finally, Triple H spoke up. "Naitch, I can't help thinking–and I _know_ this sounds crazy, but bear with me–I can't help thinking that she's been this way since right after SummerSlam." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Since the night we took care of Orton." He turned to Flair again, a trace of worry in his eyes. It seemed so strange, that the Game could actually be _worried_ about something. "Ric, you don't think that she's acting like this because of what we did to Orton? That she's miserable because he's gone?"

Flair stared at Triple H incredulously, then threw back his head and laughed. "Is _that_ what's been bugging you, Champ? That she and Randy might've been messing around?" The Nature Boy chuckled, shaking his head. "Hunter, those two _hated_ each other. You saw them; all of us did. They couldn't even be in the same room together, and it was always a struggle to get her to accompany him to the ring." His expression sobered. "Plus...you saw the way she attacked him that night. You can't _fake_ hatred like that. I mean, Elektra is a good little actress, but she's not _that_ good." Flair slapped Triple H on the shoulder. "Listen, Champ, let it go, all right? Take Elektra's advice and concentrate on your match tonight. Thanks to this online voting mumbo jumbo, you've got _three_ opponents to worry about instead of one."

"Yeah, I'll do that," the Game muttered distractedly. He was still staring at the spot where Elektra had turned the corner.

Flair stared hard at the World Heavyweight Champion. "I'm serious, Hunter. _Let it go_."

"I said I'll do it!" Triple H snapped, pushing his large frame off the car. But from the look in his eyes, it was obvious that the Game's suspicions were not going to be buried so easily.

* * *

Batista walked briskly down the hallway toward the women's locker room, shooting glances over his shoulder to make sure that no one was following him. He was keeping a sharp eye out not only for Elektra, but for the rest of Evolution as well. After all, what he was planning tonight was drastic, but if it worked, it would change the complexion of everything.

In front of him was a nearly empty hallway, but all Batista could see was Elektra: her eyes, her smile, the way her body moved as she walked. Ending their relationship so abruptly had taken a major emotional toll on him, but he sucked it up and tried not to let it affect his performance in the ring. It certainly didn't make being around her any easier. He knew that he had been assigned to watch her, but he eventually relinquished that responsibility to Hunter and Flair, choosing to travel alone.

It hurt, abandoning her like that, but in his heart, he had never really abandoned her. Instead, he had used the newfound distance between them to seriously think about Trish's request. So now, after several weeks of careful calculating and consideration, he had formulated a plan; a last desperate act to remove Elektra from the clutches of Evolution. She wasn't going to like it, and she would most likely hate him after it was over, but then again, maybe that was what they meant by 'tough love".

Batista reached the women's locker room, and rapped hesitantly on the door. No answer. He tried again, harder this time.

The door opened, and Nidia peered out, clad only in a towel. Batista quickly averted his eyes. Nidia, seeing that it was the Animal, scowled. "Oh...it's _you_."

"Listen, is Trish in there?" Batista asked, still looking away. "I need to speak with her."

If Nidia found it strange that Evolution's Animal was looking for Trish Stratus and not Elektra, she didn't comment. Instead, she turned around. "Hey, Trish!" she yelled. There was a muffled "What?" from somewhere inside the room. "There's a visitor for you!"

Batista winced. Nidia's shouts were loud enough to bring over not only every other Diva in the room, but also anyone within a 150-foot radius. Luckily, Trish appeared in the doorway, and shooing Nidia away, stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She stared at Batista, confusion written on her face. "Elektra's back there. She's still in the shower, but if I tell her it's you, I'm sure she'll–"

"No!" Batista's vehement response in the negative startled Trish. The Animal took a deep breath and continued, slowly this time. "I came here to talk to _you_. It has to do with your request."

"Oh, you mean the one about pulling Elektra out of Evolution?" Trish interrupted. "'Cause you're doing a piss-poor job so far."

Batista rolled his eyes. "Thanks for reminding me. Anyway, I came to tell you that I have a plan."

Trish's irritation vanished, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Does Elektra know?" she asked quietly.

"No," Batista replied. "And I need you to make sure that she doesn't find out. Believe me, she is _not_ going to like the way this is going to play out."

Trish's lips curved in a half-smile. "Tough love, huh?"

Batista didn't return the grin. "It's the only thing I've got left." He lowered his voice. "It's about the Battle Royale tonight..."

* * *

The mood of the Evolution after-party was somber, at best. Batista had lost the vote for an Intercontinental Title shot by seventeen percent. Flair had lost a steel cage match to Randy Orton. Triple H had retained his title, but only after some "assistance" from a vindictive Edge.

But worst of all, Elektra had lost her prized Women's Championship in a Diva Battle Royale. After almost three months at the top, she was now a former Champion, and the Game seemed determined not to let her live it down. The two of them sat at opposite sides of the small round booth, tucked away in the VIP corner of the trendy nightclub, glaring at each other occasionally. The War of the Roses-like atmosphere had become too much for Batista to handle, and he had retreated to the bar. Flair was sticking it out, but the palpable aura of resentment was becoming unbearable, even for the Nature Boy.

"...What I don't understand," Triple H continued, gesturing with his glass, and talking in that condescending tone of his. "is how hard _is_ it to throw someone _through_ the ropes? Not even _over_ them, mind you, but _through_ them." He smirked, taking a swig of his drink. "Obviously not that hard, since every other Diva on Raw was able to do it to you."

Elektra took a very tiny sip of her screwdriver, wondering what the consequences would be if she suddenly threw the glass at the Game's face. The memory of the match still haunted her. The way the other Divas had turned, one by one, to stare at her...the way they had all suddenly rushed toward her, grabbing her arms and legs before she could even run...the way they had hurled her over the top rope like a sack of garbage. She remembered looking up from the floor to see Trish in the midst of it all, grinning and shrugging her shoulders as if to say, "That's the way life goes..." Elektra had suffered a few bumps and bruises, but nothing hurt worse than her pride.

What made it worse was that in the space of a few hours, Triple H had gone from being her closest companion to her worst enemy again. When she had returned to the locker room, limping slightly from a twisted ankle, he had not even bothered to stand up, merely glared at her from his easy chair. _What the hell was that out there_? he'd demanded. _How could you be so stupid_? No sympathy, no "Better luck next time."...just instant contempt for her failure. Elektra couldn't help but remember Batista's warning to her, about how things would change for the worst once she lost the title. Boy, he'd really seen that one coming.

The memory of their last encounter rose up unbidden, and Elektra quickly took a larger sip of her drink, trying to force it back down. At this point, she'd consumed just enough alcohol to dull her pain down to a slow simmering resentment. It didn't hurt as much, but that didn't stop it from eating away at her.

"You know," The Game was obviously not going to let this go. "I was subjected to this Taboo Tuesday bullshit the same as you, and I still managed to hang onto my title."

"Oh, please," Elektra scoffed. "Don't even try to compare your match to mine. I had _seven_ opponents to worry about; you had _one_. A crippled one, I might add. In fact," she leaned forward. "Shawn Michaels was totally kicking your ass up until he got speared by Edge." She sat back. "Everyone in Milwaukee knows that all you did tonight was pick up the scraps." She smirked, raising the glass to her lips. "It's pathetic...a World Heavyweight Champion who can't even beat a one-legged man on his own."

"You shut your damn mouth!" Triple H's change in demeanor was swift and unexpected. His features twisted into that baleful expression he usually reserved for his worst enemies. "You know as well as I do that the record books don't show _how_ a match was won; all they're interested in is the end result. And the end result is that I'm still the World Heavyweight Champion."

Elektra shrugged, her glass still raised. "Probably a good thing...when you think about that three-ring circus at Unforgiven that you called a title match. After watching that mess, I almost wished that Orton _had_ beaten you."

Faster than she would have thought possible, Triple H reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. Orange juice slopped onto the table, but neither of them paid any mind. "You keep talking like this, and you'll end up just like Orton." he spat.

His grip was powerful enough to make the bones in her wrist grind together painfully, but Elektra ignored it, staring defiantly back at the Game. "Oh, so then you must mean _a winner_, because–since we're talking about outcome here–Orton _did_ beat the Nature Boy tonight inside a steel cage." She finally pulled her hand free, with no small amount of effort, and slammed the glass down on the table. "What are you gonna do, Hunter? Are you gonna Pedigree me in the middle of the ring too, to try and teach me some kind of lesson?" She shook her head. "You actually think that saying something like that will put the fear of God in me? Let me tell you something: I live with that fear _every day. Every day, Hunter_. I'm afraid just being around you, wondering when I'm going to say or do the one thing that will make you turn on me. Well, I'm _sick and tired_ of being afraid.Tired of living in fear...but mostly...just sick of _you_." She rose to leave.

"_Sit down_." Triple H's voice was an icy murmur, his eyes smoldering with venom.

Elektra could see that she had just crossed a fine line between expressing her opinion and displaying open defiance...but she didn't care. Her reply was just as cold. "_Or what_?" she whispered. Grabbing her glass, she hurled its contents into the Game's face and stormed off. Triple H just sat there, stunned, as orange juice and vodka dripped down his nose and onto his white shirt.

As Elektra ran up the spiral staircase to the second level of the club, she wondered if she had just signed her own death warrant.

* * *

The second floor of the nightclub consisted of a wraparound balcony and a back area that had been divided into individual rooms. Each space was furnished with two chairs, a table, and a chaise lounge, and each had been fitted with a studio door to ensure quiet, if not necessarily privacy.

Elektra ducked into the first empty room she found, and hurled herself onto the chaise. As soon as her face hit the cushion, she started sobbing; big gulping sobs that made her stomach convulse with every breath. She cried so hard that she thought she might throw up. It wouldn't have made any difference. Nothing, not nausea, not all the alcohol in the world, could blot out the deep pain she felt within her, a sense of complete and utter hopelessness. For the first time since arriving on Raw, she was all alone. Granted, her outburst with Triple H had been a long time coming, but what had happened with Batista...that could have been avoided. Now, she didn't have even him, at a time when she needed him the most.

"I should have listened to you, Dave," Elektra whispered to herself, clutching the fabric of the chaise in her hands. "I should have left when I had the chance." She broke down into tears again at the thought of existing in a world without Dave Batista. Elektra cried until there were no more tears left; until all she was doing was going through the motions of weeping. She buried her face in her hands, wishing that this whole sordid twisted life of hers was nothing more than a bad dream. That she had never met Triple H, or Randy Orton...or Batista.

There was a whisper and a rush of air as the door to her room opened. For a moment, the vacuum of quiet was filled with the sounds of laughter and techno music, then abruptly silenced. The soft crunch of footsteps on carpet came closer and closer, and she felt the give of the cushion as someone sat on the edge of the chaise.

Elektra didn't move. It would really be the capstone of her evening if she ended up getting molested by some drunken metrosexual. She tensed, prepared to defend herself if necessary. But when strong hands touched her shoulders, she let herself relax. Only one man could make her whole body tingle with electricity with a single touch.

Batista lifted her up gently, letting her lean back against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Elektra tilted her head to the side and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could feel his pulse beating against her lips.

"You always seem to know when I need you," she whispered. Batista's pulse quickened, probably at the feeling of her lips moving against his skin. Elektra pulled back so she could look up into his eyes. "Why is that? Why are you always there for me? God knows I've treated you like crap–" Her voice broke.

Batista didn't say anything at first, but she could read the emotion on his face as easily as a book. He reached up slowly, and traced the contours of her lips with his thumb. "I said I'd always protect you," he answered, his voice thick with need. "No matter what."

Elektra stared back at him. She lifted her hand and gently touched his cheek. "Dave..."

That was all the encouragement that Batista needed. Grabbing her face with both hands, he pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely. Elektra kissed him back, slipping her hands under his suit jacket, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. They shifted awkwardly, trying to find the position that would deliver them to each other's arms. Elektra found herself straddling his lap, her hands moving up his chest as she kissed him. Their tongues met and she could taste his desire, just as surely as he was tasting hers. Batista's hands slid under her skirt. He gripped her ass, forcing her against the curve of his body. She could feel his hardness pressing against her through her underwear and gasped at the sudden gush of wetness between her legs.

Her small sounds of pleasure seemed to incite the Animal even more, and he moved his hands upward as he began to kiss her neck. Elektra's dress was strapless, cut down to her navel, and held in place by three thin straps. Batista slid his hand into the shallow crevice between fabric and skin, his fingers caressing her breast. Elektra moaned, arching her head back. As she did, Batista kissed her throat, sliding his lips up over her chin until they met hers again.

With very little effort, he gently laid her down on the chaise, covering her body with his own. They kissed again, and this time it was sweet, tender. Pulling back, he touched his nose to hers, then moved down to kiss the line of her jaw. Elektra rested her hand on his head, feeling his hair against her palm, as he moved lower: her neck, the hollow of her throat, the space between her breasts. His tongue slid along the curve of her navel, and Elektra had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. His hands were traveling lower, up under her skirt, until they located the thin strap of her thong. With that same slow gentle insistence, he tugged it off, sitting up so he could guide the garment over the spikes of her stilettos. Elektra could only lie there, breathlessly awaiting the next pleasures he would show her.

Batista paused for a second, caressing her ankles. Then he slowly spread her legs apart, positioning himself between them. His hand trailed up her calf, her knee, her inner thigh, and Elektra could not suppress a small cry of shock as he slid a finger inside her. Batista stroked her, massaged her, teased her, and it was all she could do not to scream. Elektra arched her back, almost crying from the pleasure that was ricocheting throughout her body. Just when she thought that she couldn't contain herself anymore; that she was going to climax right here and now, he stopped.

For a brief moment, Elektra was upset. It was unfair of him to bring her to this point without fulfillment. But she quickly discovered that Batista had stopped only so he could replace his fingers with his tongue. Now Elektra was practically writhing in ecstasy. Her moans grew louder and louder as Batista mercilessly brought her closer and closer to the point of release. Finally, her body could no longer withstand the pleasure, and she clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle her screams as the orgasm tore through her. For those few blissful moments of eternity, Elektra was transported to a golden plane. Warmth trickled upward to every corner of her body, and reality was wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket which dulled all of its sharp edges.

Slowly, the feeling wore off, and she felt gentle hands on her face. She opened her eyes to see Batista just above her, smiling at her tenderly. He bent down and kissed her, the softest kiss imaginable. Then he leaned to the side and whispered in her ear. "I won't tell Hunter if you won't."

Just hearing him repeat those words she had spoken on a dark street so long ago filled Elektra with emotion, and she smiled. This was how it was meant to be. Despite what she had said, she was always meant to be with Dave Batista. She wanted to pour out her heart, tell him everything she was feeling, apologize for how she had behaved, when he brought his face back up to hers again. His smile had disappeared, and now he looked serious, almost miserable.

Elektra frowned. "Dave...Dave, what is it?" Batista didn't answer, but slowly raised himself up into a sitting position. Elektra, her limbs still weak, pushed herself up as well. Batista was staring at the floor, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked and chin resting on knuckles. Elektra gently laid her head against his shoulder. "Dave...is it me?"

"No..." Batista answered. "Believe me, it's me." He paused, and took a deep ragged breath. "There's something I have to tell you...about tonight."

"You mean what just happened?" Elektra asked, confused. "Dave, don't feel--"

"No." Batista interrupted quietly. "I mean about Taboo Tuesday, and your match." He took another breath. God, this was going to hurt worse than any bump he had ever taken in the ring. "I'm the reason you lost the Women's Championship tonight."

Elektra sagged with relief, thankful that he wasn't rejecting her or the physical act that had just occurred. "No, no...you had nothing to do with it." she protested, lifting her head up. She reached over and touched his chin, turning his face toward hers. "Yes, I admit that I've been distracted since you left, but that wasn't what happened in the ring. The other Divas...they _attacked _me–"

"Because I asked them to." Batista interjected.

Elektra blinked, trying to understand what he was telling her. "What?" was all she could get out. "What do you mean?" She slowly pulled her hand away. Surely, he didn't mean that...

"The other Divas attacked you and threw you out of the ring because I asked them to." Batista repeated, turning to look at her.

Elektra felt her head start to spin. All she could hear was the sound of blood pounding in her ears. This was just a dream...or a sick joke. Elektra looked into Batista's eyes, trying to find some indication that he was kidding. But all she saw was seriousness and an abject misery. He obviously had not wanted to tell her this. So why had he? "You...you _what_?" she stammered, trying to make her tongue work well enough to form words. "You told them _what_?" Batista didn't answer; just sat there, letting the full realization of what he'd done bloom in her mind. Elektra moved back an inch, then another, her expression filled with horror. "Everything that I've gone through tonight...losing the match...suffering Hunter's wrath...throwing my _drink_ in his face...that was all because of _you_?" She leapt to her feet, but it wasn't anger that marred her features; it was pain. "How _could _you?" she cried, her eyes gleaming with tears. "After all I've been through–how could you?" She took a step toward him, tears now streaming down her face. "Why? Why did you do it?" She shook her head. "No...it doesn't matter why. It doesn't matter. It's done now...and I'm dead. He's going to kill me. _He's going to kill me_." Elektra looked around the room wildly, her eyes wide with panic. "I have to go...I have to get out of here–I just have to go."

"Elektra..." Batista rose from the chaise, trying to pull her into his arms, to comfort her. "Listen to me. I–"

"_Don't touch me_!" Elektra shrieked, pulling away. She backed up against the door, her eyes staring accusingly at Batista. "Don't touch me," she repeated. "Please, Dave...I have to go." Pulling open the door, she ran out and down the hall before Batista could stop her.

For a moment, Batista couldn't hear anything; the roars of the Animal were deafening him. He walked to one side of the room, trying to think clearly. But it was no use; the pain from his broken heart was too great. He punched the wall as hard as he could; punched it until he felt it give and crack beneath his fist. Batista then slumped against the wall, too overcome with emotion to even vent his rage.

The Animal's back was to the door, so he never saw the familiar figure that sidled by the glass. Randy Orton walked out onto the balcony, his eyes glued to the fleeing form of Elektra as she pushed her way through the mingling crowds of people on the ground floor. The Legend Killer smiled.

It was not a nice smile.


	20. Chapter 20: Never Be Alone

Chapter 20: Never Be Alone

Elektra threw herself onto the bed, not even bothering to switch on the light. Reaching down, she fumbled with the straps on her stilettos, loosening them and kicking the shoes off. She pulled her thin glittery shoulder wrap even tighter around her shoulders, as though it could somehow keep away the cold feeling seeping into her body. Elektra curled up into a ball, trying to will away the memories of what had just transpired.

Her time in Evolution was over; that much was clear. No amount of cajoling or coaxing would be able to get her back into Triple H's good graces, not after the stunt she had just pulled. She would be lucky if he didn't throw her out as soon as he returned. As for her career...it would be a miracle if she still had one after tonight. After getting his head shaved by his own nephew, Eric Bischoff was going to be in a bad mood for a very long time. It wouldn't take very much prompting from the Game to ruin her professionally. Or maybe Bischoff would just fire her outright. Elektra wasn't worried about her job security; she knew that Theodore Long would be more than willing to sign her to SmackDown. But she didn't know if she had the emotional strength to start over in a different brand with strange Superstars and Divas. Especially since everyone she cared about was here.

Especially since she was in love with Dave Batista.

Even as the thought echoed through her mind, Elektra pressed her hands over her ears, as though this could somehow block out the mental reverberations of her emotions. "No, I'm not, I'm not–" she whispered to herself. "I can't..." But as she said, she knew that her denials were useless. She was in love with Batista.

Elektra sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "Why did he have to ruin it? Why did he have to tell me?" she pleaded to an empty room. Her mind was still reeling after Batista's revelation. The fact that he had knowingly sabotaged her match...worse, that he had consoled her, knowing he was the cause of her happiness...that, to Elektra, was unimaginable. Batista knew what Triple H would become once Elektra lost the Women's Title, so why had he done such a thing? But more importantly...why had he told her after it was over? Maybe he was trying to prevent her from learning the truth from someone else further down the road...or maybe he was just paying her back for the grief she had caused him.

Elektra didn't know. She didn't know what to think anymore. She couldn't deny her feelings for Batista, but she couldn't trust him anymore, either. Ever since they had met, Batista had patiently, but persistently, been tearing down the protective barriers she had built around herself, and had awoken emotions in her that she thought were long dead. If he hadn't been there, she would have given in to her loneliness and misery a long time ago. She was alive because of him. But Elektra just couldn't look past this huge betrayal of her trust. She didn't know if she could forgive him. Maybe she never could.

Elektra pressed her forehead to her knees, wanting to cry. But she was too exhausted to even form tears. Sensations were crashing against her: Batista's kisses, his mouth against her skin, his hands seeking out the most intimate part of her–even if she hadn't fought with Triple H, how could she go back to the way things were after knowing, finally, how they could been? Maybe she would be better off going to SmackDown, and leaving this mess behind her. Maybe it was her destiny to always be alone; to lock her heart away; to show everything but reveal nothing.

There was a knock at the door.

* * *

Elektra looked up, startled. Who could possibly be at her door at this hour? It couldn't have been Triple H or Flair; neither one of them would have knocked. Maybe it was one of the other Divas, coming to check on her. Maybe it was just a drunken hotel guest, getting his kicks by banging on other people's doors. Or maybe it was...

Elektra forced the thought out of her mind. Moments like that didn't happen in real life. You didn't open up a door to find the one you loved on the other side. She was just still in shock from what had happened; chances were she was just imagining all of this.

The knock came again, more insistent this time. And again. Elektra slowly rose to her feet, the carpeting cool beneath her bare soles. The knocking continued, and she found herself hoping, _praying_ that it wouldn't stop. She reached the door knob, feeling like she was in slow motion. Pulling the door open in mid-knock, she quickly took a step back when Batista almost fell on her.

The Animal regained his balance and straightened back. The two of them locked eyes. Elektra swallowed, trying to speak past the big lump of emotion in her throat.

"What are you doing here, Dave?" she asked quietly.

Batista stepped forward, clearing his throat. "You never gave me a chance to explain _why_."

Elektra shook her head. "I told you, it doesn't matter." She started to close the door. "Please, Dave, just go."

Before she could shut it, Batista slammed his hand against the door and pushed it back open. "Elektra, just listen to me this once. Once I'm done, you don't ever to speak to me again."

Elektra sighed. "Fine, then, explain yourself. Explain why you betrayed me like that. And then get out."

Batista took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I made you lose your match tonight so that you would finally leave Evolution."

Elektra pinched her lips together briefly. "Oh, believe me, there's no doubt about that. I'll be lucky if Hunter doesn't _kill_ me tonight." She stared hard at Batista. "So if that's the case, why tell me at all? Why force me to go through this pain?"

Batista glanced down at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up, there was pain and unhappiness emanating from his dark eyes. His emotions were coming off him in waves. "I figured it out a while back...why you didn't leave Hunter after your title win." He shook his head. "It wasn't because of you or your hang-ups about protection. It was because of _me_. _You stayed with him_ to protect me." He hesitated, pressing his hand briefly to his temples. "So I wanted to make sure that this time...there wouldn't be _anything_ holding you back...including me."

Elektra had been staring off to the side, but when she heard those words, she froze, and her eyes slowly locked on Batista's. The Animal continued. "And if that meant I had to make you _hate me_ in order to leave him..." His voice broke. "...then that was the price I was willing to pay."

Elektra slowly covered her mouth with her hand, involuntary tears filling her eyes. She couldn't speak for a few moments; her throat was too constricted. She pressed both hands to her heart. "Why?" she managed to say. "Why would you make yourself go through that?"

Batista reached over, his fingers trailing down her cheek. A tear slid down his face, working its way over the sharp angles of his features. "Because I love you," he whispered. He gently held her face in both hands. "I love you," he repeated. Reluctantly, he let his arms fall back down to his sides. "I just wanted you to know that." Casting one last longing look at her, he turned around, walking down the hall toward the elevator.

Elektra couldn't move for a second. Her feet were literally frozen to the floor. But in her head, everything was _so clear_. She suddenly saw how selfish she'd been. For months, she'd put her feelings aside for her own survival. But Batista...he'd sacrificed his in the hope that it would free her from Evolution. Elektra pressed one hand on the door frame for support. Voices swirled around in her head; all talking at once, but all saying the same thing: that she was an idiot if she let him go.

Pushing herself up, Elektra ran out into the hallway. "Dave! Dave!" She reached the elevator bay. The elevator had opened and Batista had just stepped inside. Elektra screeched to a halt. "_Dave_!" she pleaded. Batista turned, and seeing her, quickly walked back out of the elevator compartment. Crossing the distance between them, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her temple, her ear. Elektra clung to him, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't leave! I'll do anything you want...I'll leave him...I'll leave Evolution...just don't leave me!" She pressed her face against his jacket. "I love you," she cried, the emotions pouring out of her. "I love you...I love you..." She kept repeating those three little words, knowing that she would never tire of saying them.

* * *

The door to Batista's room swung open, and the two of them stumbled inside, not willing to stop their passionate kissing for even the few seconds it took to walk into a room. Before the door had even shut behind them, they were already pulling at clothing, trying to peel back the layers of garments until it was just skin against skin. Batista stripped off his jacket, breaking contact long enough to tug his necktie loose and over his head. Elektra fumbled with his shirt buttons, finally undoing them and pushing the garment open to expose his sculpted chest. Batista aided her, shrugging off the shirt and tossing it on the floor.

Elektra hesitated, captivated by the well-defined lines of his pectorals and abdomen. Moving closer, she kissed his chest, her mouth and tongue tracing a slow, lazy path to his neck. She heard him groan with need, and his hands moved over her body, trying to find the fastener to her dress. Before Elektra could tell him that it laced up the back, Batista grabbed both sides of the bodice and pulled. There was a sound of ripping fabric and the dress fell to her waist. Elektra stepped back, and the small movement was enough to make the garment continue its descent to the floor. With a soft whisper of silk against skin, the remains of her dress slid over her hips and pooled around her feet.

The sight of her body, naked for the first time, was enough to make the Animal pause. "God, you're beautiful." he whispered. Stepping over and kneeling down, he kissed her bare body, his lips and tongue moving skillfully over the curves of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the juncture between her legs. Suddenly he was standing, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed.

He laid her down gently, pausing long enough to strip off his remaining clothes. Then Batista was on top of her, positioning himself between her legs. Elektra gasped and arched her head back as he thrust into her. Batista gripped her ass, easing himself deeper into her. Their hips met, merged, as he found his rhythm, and Elektra wrapped her legs around his body. Leaning down, Batista found her mouth and kissed her tenderly, gently nipping her lower lip with his teeth. He moved down to her neck, trailing the tip of his tongue along her collarbone. Elektra began to moan as waves of pleasure washed over her. Batista's rhythm became harder, more urgent. His breath was escaping in shallow gasps. His arms slid up under her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Lifting his head up, he looked into her eyes, which were cloudy with desire. Finally, the feeling overtook them and they both climaxed; him first, her second.

For the next few minutes, they lay together, panting, their bodies glistening with sweat. After some effort, Batista rolled over onto his back. Elektra curled up against him, resting her head on his chest. She could feel his heart racing; it seemed almost as fast as her own.

She laid her hand on his chest, breathing in his scent. She still couldn't believe that he was really hers. She cleared her throat, trying to sound as serious as possible. "You know...that _was_ an eighty-dollar dress."

At first, Batista thought she was actually mad, but then he felt her body begin to shake with suppressed laughter and chuckled. "Yeah...sorry about that."

"Oh, it doesn't matter." Elektra lifted her head up to look at him. "Besides...I got you."

Batista reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin, the brush of her dark hair against his arm. "Yeah," he whispered. "You got me." He pulled her back down into a kiss, which soon deepened and became more than a kiss as they once again relinquished their bodies and souls to each other.


	21. Chapter 21: Decisions At Dawn

Chapter 21: Decisions At Dawn

Triple H and Ric Flair were both somewhere between drunk and sober. They had consumed just the right amount of alcohol to get lodged in that unusual state where the world suddenly becomes louder, brighter and more vibrant than the real thing. It was also a precarious state, because emotions and moods could change in an instant.

At this particular moment, the Game was in a good mood, stumbling slightly as he walked down the hall, describing yet again how he had just ended Shawn Michaels' career once and for all. Once he opened the door to his hotel room, however, it was as though his emotional switch had been flipped. Maybe it was the sight of an empty room, or maybe it was just the natural course of his recollections. Either way, Triple H's features transformed into an expression of absolute hatred. "And then that _bitch_ had to go and ruin everything. Look at this shirt, Ric! This shit isn't going to wash out!" The Game indicated his soiled dress shirt, now stained a pale yellow in places. "Sixty bucks down the drain...who the _hell_ does she think she is? Talking back to me, storming out all high and mighty–she was a _nobody_ until she met me! She'd still _be_ a nobody if it wasn't for me!" Triple H stormed into the room, throwing his suit jacket on the bed. "Fucking bitch," he muttered again.

Flair stood outside the doorway, rolling his eyes. Outwardly, he was smiling, but inside, he was weary from having to run interference the entire night. As much as he was fond of Elektra, he couldn't help but share some of the Game's sentiments. It was hard to be charitable when you've just spent the last few hours convincing the World Heavyweight Champion _not_ to Pedigree his girlfriend in the middle of the hotel lobby. "Champ...Hunter...calm down," he said soothingly. "Remember what I told you. She just needs to blow off some steam. She'll be back. She _always_ comes back, remember? I mean..." he chuckled. "Where else is she gonna go?"

For a moment, it looked like Triple H was going to explode with rage. Then, just like before, the switch was flipped and his face relaxed back into a smile. "You're right, Ric. You're always right. That's why you're the Nay-Ture Boy!"

"Go to sleep, Champ," Flair called over his shoulder as he turned around and walked down the hall. "You've got a busy day tomorrow." He heard the door to the World Heavyweight Champion's room slam shut. The Nature Boy arrived at his own door, put his hand on the knob...then paused, his attention caught by something sparkling on the floor. He looked down, and saw that his left foot was resting on a long piece of red transparent fabric, ornamented with glittering floral designs. The material appeared to be caught under the door. Frowning, Flair kneeled, taking hold of the fabric and pulling. It came free, reaching a length of about three or four feet. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was...Then, in a flash of memory, it came to him. _Elektra, throwing her drink in Triple H's face, and then tugging absently at her shoulder wrap before she stormed off. It had been designed to match the dress. She had been messing with the thing all evening._

Flair looked from the garment to the door, his eyes widening in astonishment. He backed away from the door, almost falling on his face in the process. "Calm down, Naitch," he told himself. "There are a thousand reasons why that thing would be there," But in fact, there was only one explanation, and if Hunter found out...

The Nature Boy quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. There would be no "and if", not if he could help it. Elektra and Dave may be stupid, but they were still good kids and Flair would be damned if he was going to contribute to their downfall. Balling the shoulder wrap up and shoving it into his pocket, the Nature Boy got to his feet and looked up and down the hallway.

"So _now_ where am I gonna sleep?" he griped aloud to no one in particular.

* * *

For WWE Superstars, mornings are never like they are in the movies. There's no sunshine in your face, no sound of birds singing. For them, it's just the hush of stillness and the cold blue-gray light of just before dawn.

The alarm clock on the nightstand erupted in a cacophony of harsh buzzing. Batista opened his eyes, and hit the "Snooze" button with a well-practiced open palm. Yawning, he sat up, trying to get his bearings in the dim light. He could just make out the shapes of furniture and standing suitcases. Only two things in the room distinguished it from any other morning: the clothing strewn across the floor, and the sleeping form of Elektra beside him.

Batista looked down at her, his usually intimidating expression softening. She looked so peaceful lying there, her dark hair loose upon the pillow, one hand curled up beside her face. She must not have heard the alarm because her breathing remained deep and regular. The Animal couldn't keep himself from staring at her. It seemed such a shame to wake her. All that would do was bring her back to reality, where a whole new set of problems waited. Where, the ecstasy of the previous night aside, they would have to seriously think about how to handle Triple H. The Game was not going to be pleased when he found out, and there was no predicting what he would do in his initial wrath. But gazing down at the woman he loved, the woman he had longed to hold in his arms from the very first moment he saw her, Batista realized that he didn't give a damn about what Triple H thought. Let the Game rage all he wanted; the Animal was still going home with the girl. _Look at what I got, Hunter. And she chose me, not you_...

Batista leaned down close to Elektra, nuzzling her neck and breathing in the scent of her hair. The grey-eyed Diva stirred, sighing softly. She slowly opened her eyes. "Ummm...it's morning," she murmured, stretching. Rolling over, she curled up against Batista, who enfolded her in his arms. "Make it go away, Dave. Make it be night again, so I'll still have you." She sighed again, her blissful expression fading. "Because soon I'll have to get up and deal with Hunter. If he's pissed, I'll be lucky if I still have a job. Or worse...I'll have to pretend that nothing has changed. That nothing happened last night." Elektra propped herself up on one elbow, staring off into the distance. "I don't think that I could stand it...if I had to go back to the way things were."

"Then don't go back," Batista replied, as he pushed her hair back from her shoulders and caressed the length of her neck. "Stay here with me, and forget how things used to be."

Elektra shook her head. "But what if he comes after me...or you?"

Batista chuckled. "_Me_? What can he _possibly _do to me? And if he tries to lay a finger on you...I'll break him in half." He touched her chin. "I don't care what happens. I'm not giving you up this time."

Elektra moved closer until her nose touched his. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," Batista slowly tilted his head to the side until his mouth met hers. He kissed her gently, tenderly, bringing his arms up around her back to draw her body against his. He rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top of him as they continued their passionate kissing.

* * *

The knock at the door was startling, but hardly unexpected. After all, Flair was supposed to be sharing this room, too, and most likely had returned to change and pack up his things. Elektra rolled off Batista, snatching his shirt from the floor, and pressing her body against the wall, out of sight of the door. The Animal grabbed a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase, put them on, and walked over to the door, trying to look as casual as possible. He opened it, and as he'd expected, the Nature Boy was on the other side. "Hey, Ric," Batista said, attempting to act as though he'd just woken up. "What's up?"

Flair grinned. "Enjoy yourself last night?" Before Batista could even think about how to answer this, the Nature Boy's grin faded. "Look, I know she's in here. Bring her out; there's something I need to tell both of you."

"What are you talking about, Ric?" Batista chuckled, though inside, his mind was wondering how Flair had figured everything out so fast. Maybe this _was_ why they called him the Nature Boy.

Flair sighed, exasperated, and reaching into his pocket, pulled out Elektra's shoulder wrap and held it up. The fabric opened up to its full length "Do not play games with me, man. I need to talk to her _now_."

Batista started to say something else, thought better of it, and finally turned around and nodded. Elektra hesitantly walked out from around the corner, wearing the Animal's dress shirt from the previous night. Her eyes widened a little more at the sight of Flair, but she lifted her chin up and moved to Batista's side. The Animal put his arm around her waist protectively.

Flair looked from one to the other. "Are both of you _out of your minds_?" he exploded. "You–" he pointed at Elektra. "Do you have _any idea_ how long it took me to calm Hunter down last night? Let me tell you, he was ready to unload the minute you threw that drink in his face. In fact, he's _still_ not happy; but he understands–as you should, too–that losing you would be a major blow to Evolution. And you, Dave–" he turned to Batista now. "–What are you _thinking_? You should know better; screwing around with Hunter's girl–"

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Elektra interjected, stepping forward. "Just because I hung on the arm of the World Heavyweight Champion for the last ten months does not mean that I'm suddenly his property!" She stared at the Nature Boy, shaking her head. "Hunter treated me like _shit_, Ric. The only time he ever appreciated me was when I held a title. The rest of the time, I was worthless to him. So don't feed me that 'major blow to Evolution' bullshit." Her lips curled in a sarcastic smile. "Some Cerebral Assassin...he couldn't even see what was happening right in front of him."

"And that would be?" Flair demanded.

"We're in love, Ric," Batista finally spoke up. "We're in love and we're going to be together, regardless of what Hunter wants."

"Oh, the Animal speaks!" Flair remarked sarcastically. He looked at the pair again. "_Love_? Both of you have been here long enough to know that love doesn't belong here. There's no room for love in the WWE. Look at Hunter," Flair gestured at nothing. "He was on top of the world a few years ago. And then he fell in 'love' with that _whore_, and suddenly, everything went downhill. She destroyed him, and he's never been the same since. So don't stand there and act like life is going to end happily ever after for you two, because it _won't_."

"Ric," Batista's voice was still calm, but it was now laced with that hint of menace he normally reserved for his opponents. "We're going to be together."

Flair looked at Batista incredulously. For a while, he tried to stare down the Animal, but finally gave up. No one could stare down Batista. The Nature Boy sighed. "You're really serious, aren't you?" He received nods and glares from both parties. "And there isn't anything I can do to change your minds, is there?" This time, there were identical shakes of their heads. Flair finally threw up his hands in the air. "Fine! Go kill yourselves if you want to. Just–" His voice became pleading. "Just wait until this Orton thing clears up before you tell him, all right?"

Elektra stared at the Nature Boy, dumbstruck. "You are _unbelievable. _Are you actually saying that you want me to play nice with Triple H, pretend that we're still a couple, _just so_ he can deal with Randy Orton?" She shook her head again. "And what happens when Orton is finally crushed? Someone else will pop up. There's _always_ someone else. And once again, you'll tell me to wait until it's over, so the Game won't be _distracted_, and then the next thing I know, another ten months will have gone by. " Elektra looked hard at Flair. "Ric, I'm tired of being unhappy. I _love_ Dave, and I'm going to be with him, and I don't give a shit anymore about what's _right_ for Hunter." She leaned against Batista, and the Animal reached up and gently stroked her hair.

Flair closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. The Nature Boy had always been very persuasive, but it seemed that he had finally met his match in Batista and Elektra. "Okay...new plan. Here's the deal: you wait until next week–until after Monday Night Raw–and then do whatever you want." He glanced down at the floor. "I'll even put in a good word for you with Hunter." He sighed and looked back up. "How's that sound?"

Batista and Elektra turned to look at each other. To Elektra, the offer sounded almost too good to be true. If the two of them could get the Nature Boy on their side, it would go a long way toward softening the blow with Triple H. And as much as she hated to admit it, Flair's proposition did have some logic to it. The extra time would give Triple H a much-needed chance to cool off and maybe to come to some kind of resolution about this problem with Orton.

But what would be the consequences of delaying the inevitable? Would the Game be easier to deal with...or would he become more enraged at realizing that he was the one being manipulated?

She could read Batista's answer without him even having to say a word. He thought the idea was dangerous; stupid, even. But Elektra knew now that she was willing to do whatever she had to to protect Batista, just as he was ready to defend her. She turned back to Flair. "Fine... we'll wait another couple of days."

Batista's face registered shock. "Elektra–" he started to say.

Elektra rushed on before he could finish. "But you better make it clear to the Game that things have changed. I'm not about to get walked on all over again. Triple H is in as just a precarious spot with me as I am with him, and if he so much as disrespects me, I am walking out of Evolution and telling the first person I can find everything I know. Do you _understand_?"

Flair listened to her speech with increasing dismay. "He's not gonna like that." he answered.

"I don't care," Elektra retorted. "You tell him that, Ric, or the deal's off."

After a long moment of thought, Flair sighed. "_Fine_. I'll make sure he gets the message."

"You do that." Elektra answered. She stared coldly at the Nature Boy. "Now...any other pieces of good news you'd like to bestow on me or Dave?"

Flair thought for a few seconds. "Oh, we're meeting in the lobby in an hour...and could I please get my damn suitcase?"

Without changing expression, Elektra stepped aside, letting the Nature Boy pass. She pressed against Batista, who wrapped his arms around her waist. "What are you doing?" he whispered in her ear.

"Trust me on this one," Elektra whispered back, then quickly shut her mouth as Flair emerged, rolling his suitcase behind him. The Nature Boy stared at the two of them for several seconds. "Crazy kids..." he muttered, more to himself than to them, and headed off in the direction of the elevators.

When he was out of sight, Batista slowly tugged Elektra into the room, shutting the door behind them. Once they were alone again, however, he turned her around and grabbed her shoulders. "What are you _doing_?" he asked again. "When Hunter finds out that you're using him, he'll go nuts–"

"And how would that be different from what he's done to me since day one?" Elektra answered. "Dave, believe me, this decision is killing me right now. But we _have_ to wait until Hunter calms down. Right now, he's suspicious, pissed off, just _waiting _for me to do something wrong. Whenever he's like that, it hardly takes anything for him to explode and then there's no telling what he'll do. But if we wait until his confidence rises again, until he feels that he's once again the top dog on the Raw roster, then he'll get sloppy. He'll stop noticing every detail. And when we hit him with the news, he'll be slow to respond. It'll take another week, maybe two, before he'll be able to retaliate." She looked up at Batista and gently touched his cheek. "Dave, you know that we'll never be safe? That he'll torment us for as long as he has to?"

"Listen to me," Batista interrupted, reaching out and running his fingers through her long hair. "I've always known that it would come down to this." He pulled her against him, holding her gently. "I've been with Evolution for almost two years. In the beginning, all I thought about was dominating the ring and winning titles. But then, at Armageddon, I met you, and I realized what I was missing. I don't care if I have to walk away from Evolution; if I have to beat Hunter senseless until he understands." He pulled her back so he could look at her. "You are the most important thing to me." Elektra gasped softly and a small tear trickled down her cheek. Batista carefully brushed it away with his thumb.

For a while, they stood there staring at one another. Then, Batista's mouth curled into a smile. "So...how long does it take you to get ready, anyway?"

Elektra cocked her head to the side, confused. "Fifteen or twenty...why do you ask?"

Batista reached up and tugged gently at the collar of her shirt, pulling her closer. "Just wondering...because it takes a little less for me..." His hand slid downward and he undid the first button, then the second. "...and Flair gave us a whole hour to work with." Another button. Then another.

"So what you're saying is–" Elektra replied, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

"–What to do with the other forty," Batista finished, undoing the final button and pushing the shirt off her shoulders.


	22. Chapter 22: An Untimely Revolution

Chapter 22: Untimely Revolution

Getting ready turned out to be a greater chore than either of them had expected, since Elektra had left her suitcase in Triple H's room. Batista was finally forced to be the one to act as go-between, knocking on the door, and when no one answered, slipping inside to retrieve the piece of luggage. The one-hour limit was almost up when the pair finally emerged, fully dressed, from Batista's hotel room.

As soon as they did, Elektra stopped and slapped her forehead with her palm. "Oh, _fuck_!"

Batista paused as well, turning toward her. "What is it?"

Elektra looked down toward the elevators. "I just realized...we can't go down together. I was supposed to be AWOL last night...Hunter will know something's up." She massaged her forehead with two fingers. "Fucking Nature Boy..." she muttered to herself. Elektra didn't know who she was madder at: Ric Flair for coming up with that stupid compromise, or herself for accepting it. She wondered if keeping the Game calm was actually worth all this sneaking-around bullshit. But then the image of Triple H hitting Shawn Michaels with a steel chair flashed back into her mind. What was she thinking? Sneaking around was better than the alternative.

Elektra's mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan that was both plausible and feasible. Just then, she heard a sound down the hall, and turned to see Christy Hemme and Maria Kanellis exit their room, making a quick check of their luggage before closing the door. Elektra's mind immediately began formulating a plan. She turned back to Batista. "Go down and meet Hunter in the lobby. If he asks, you didn't see or hear anything about me after I left. I'll be down in five minutes or so."

Batista looked over her shoulder, at the two rookie Divas coming up the hall behind her. "That'll never work. It's too convenient."

"I'll _make_ it work." Elektra replied. She reached up and gently encircled her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "I love you," she whispered. "Now go."

Batista wrapped his arms around her body in a warm embrace. She felt his lips brush her ear, then he pulled away and headed off toward the elevators. Elektra stared after him longingly for a few seconds before turning back to the task at hand. She spun around, pasting a friendly smile on her face, and hurried over to Christy and Maria. "Hey girls!" She fell into step between them, slinging a casual arm over Christy's shoulder. "What's up?"

Christy stared at her warily, not sure what to expect. She had heard the horror stories about Elektra from the other Divas, so any show of friendliness from the First Lady of Evolution was bound to be met with some caution. "Not much," she finally said. "Just another early morning, as usual."

Christy's cautiousness was not just because of Elektra's presence. Since winning the Raw Diva Search, she had not exactly been welcomed into the locker room with open arms. Elektra could understand this reaction, having wrestled for several years on the indie circuit and then in OVW before finally arriving as a Diva on Raw. To get a contract without really working...well, that would make a few people unhappy. But Elektra had more important things to worry about, and she wasn't about to waste her time stomping on the new Diva just because she'd been given a free shot. Right now, she had the difficult task of convincing two women she wasn't particularly close to to lie for her. "Oh, by the way, great job with your match last night. Listen," This was a horrible segue, but Elektra didn't have time to beat around the bush. "I have a huge favor to ask both of you."

"Sure!" Maria piped up. Unlike the pragmatic Christy, Maria was a natural sweet, bubbly girl, perhaps a little on the ditzy side. But Elektra had always suspected that the new Diva's apparent cluelessness was just a facade designed to throw everyone else off balance. After all, you were less likely to be careful around someone with the apparent I.Q. of carpet lint.

"Not so fast!" Christy protested. She stopped and stared at Elektra, crossing her arms over her chest. "You've barely spoken to either of us since we've been here. Why should we help you?"

Elektra started to open her mouth, then realized that she really didn't have an answer. Christy was right; why _should_ they help her? She briefly considered lying, then decided just to lay everything out on the table. Her smile faded and she became serious. "Look, I understand if you don't want to help." She paused, trying to figure out how to phrase her words. "I'm not asking you to do anything to put yourself in danger. All I'm asking is to fudge the truth a little." Elektra stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay...there may be a point today where Triple H will come up to you, and ask you where I was last night. And when he does, just tell him–"

"–That you roomed with us." Both Elektra and Christy turned to stare at Maria. The normally exuberant Diva shrugged. "What? I saw you and Batista in the hall just now, even though you're _supposed_ to be with Triple H. Plus..." She lowered her voice. "There's this rumor going around that you threw a daiquiri in his face or something, and now he's totally pissed. It doesn't take a genius to see what you're asking us to do."

Elektra stared, dumbfounded, at the obvious intelligence sparkling in the other Diva's eyes. Smart enough to manipulate, but too sweet to be a manipulator...she could have kissed Maria for that.

Maria looked over at Christy, who still wasn't convinced. "Oh, come on, Christy! They're in love! How sweet is that? And besides, didn't we sign up for this Diva Search so we'd find a little excitement?" She clapped her hands together, excited. "Oh my God, it's like a soap opera! This is so cool!"

Christy sighed, relenting. "_Fine_." She turned back to Elektra. "But believe me, I want the full story at some point."

Elektra felt her body sag with relief. "If you've got the time, I'll tell you tonight." She turned to Maria. "Girl, I don't know whether this is an insult or a compliment...but you are _definitely_ smarter than you look."

Maria grinned, and just like that, the intelligence vanished from her face, replaced by her normal blank, Barbie-doll expression. "Thank you!" she exclaimed.

* * *

Triple H, Flair and Batista were all gathered in a huddle when Elektra arrived at the lobby. She didn't have to look over to see them; the Game and the Animal alone were hard to miss, even out of the corner of her eye. She continued talking and laughing with Christy and Maria, but in reality, what she said was: "Remember what I told you."

"He better be worth it." Christy answered, a smile still plastered on her face.

"He is," Elektra replied, her features softening. "He is." Steeling herself mentally and physically, she broke away from the pair and walked over to join the rest of Evolution. Focusing her gaze on the Game, she saw that he was struggling to balance his residual anger with his relief that she had come back to him.

Elektra kept her expression neutral. In truth, she didn't feel like feigning interest in Triple H, but also, she didn't want him to see her fear. She realized that she was truly lucky to have survived up until now. Elektra was treading a very fine line with the Game, and while she couldn't just go back to the way things were, she couldn't display overt hatred, either. No, she would have to show him a careful mixture of affection and disdain; letting Triple H know that although she had come back, it would take a while for him to return to her good graces. She had to show some backbone without becoming openly defiant . It was going to be a long week.

When Elektra reached the group, Triple H gingerly put his arm around her and leaned in for a kiss. As he did, Elektra turned her face to the side, avoiding his lips.

"Oh, come on!" the Game protested. "I thought we were past this bullshit!"

Elektra stared at him coldly. "Look, Hunter, I _may_ have said some things last night that got to you." She narrowed her eyes. "But don't think I've forgotten what you said to me."

Triple H chuckled. Normally, it would be a welcome sound, but in a hostile situation like this, it was merely the calm before the storm. "Babe, chill out, all right?" He touched her chin, leaning in again as though to kiss her cheek. Instead, his grip became steely and he pressed his mouth against her ear. Behind him, Elektra saw Batista tense. Quickly, she mouthed "No!", raising up her hand as high as she dared to ward him off. Batista's body finally relaxed, but from the look on his face, he was not happy.

The Game, of course, failed to notice any of this. "You know, you're _damn_ lucky to even still be here after last night." he whispered harshly. "The _very_ least you could do is show some fucking gratitude. This Orton situation is getting out of control, and it's important that we get on the same page. So shut your damn mouth and show everyone how much you want me."

He pulled back and leaned in to kiss her again. Elektra didn't shy away; even ran her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back. Inwardly, she wanted to hit him, but she kept reminding herself that this was the game she needed to play to break free of Triple H. He needed to think that he could trust her, and until next week, she would have to show him that he could.

Triple H stepped back and placed his hand protectively on the back of her neck, a sure sign that he was in control. Together, they walked toward the main door, Batista and Flair a few steps behind.

"So..." the Game remarked. "Now that things are back to normal...you want to tell me where you were last night?" His voice was casual, but there was no disguising the implied threat behind his words.

Elektra felt her heart pound, but she forced herself to keep calm. She simply detached herself from the situation, as she did so often in and outside the ring, spinning the lie as though it were just another promo. "You meant _who_ was I with, don't you?" Elektra rolled her eyes. "Relax, Hunter, I roomed with Christy and Maria down the hall."

"Maria...Maria..." Triple H mused. "Isn't she the dumb one?"

Relieved that he seemed to be taking the bait, Elektra allowed herself to sigh with apparent exasperation. "_Tell me about it_...she would not _shut up_ last night." She stopped, looking up at the Game. "Look, Hunter, if you don't believe me, ask one of them. Ask both of them, if you must."

"I just may do that," Triple H replied, but there was no menace in his voice this time. His mouth curved upward, more like a leer than a smile. "Besides, that Christy Hemme...she certainly is a feisty one. You know what they say about redheads..." He let the thought trail off.

Elektra's expression didn't change, but inside, she found it very ironic that the Game was showing an interest in another Diva at the precise moment that she had lost all interest in him.

* * *

What followed for the next six days was a series of house shows, broken up by the usual two-day break. As Elektra had suspected, Randy Orton did not shrink back into the woodwork, but rather began to escalate his attacks on Evolution. It seemed that the Legend Killer, having retreated to lick his wounds, was now fully healed and ready to take back his title.

Elektra wasn't sure how she felt about the whole situation. True, there was no love lost between her and Orton, that was for sure. She would always despite him for the way he had treated her. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel envious of him. Unlike her, Orton had gotten out of Evolution. Unlike her, Orton was free.

Elektra found it strange that so far, the Legend Killer had yet to target her in any of his assaults. After so much bad blood, she would have figured that she'd be somewhere right below Triple H on the list. But Orton hadn't given her so much as a second glance. It threw her off, and it made her uneasy. She couldn't ignore the fact that Randy was the only non-ally who knew about her and Batista. And while he wasn't exactly in a position to benefit from that knowledge, she knew that he must be planning something.

His words sometimes came back to haunt her. _You'll regret this..._ Elektra had no doubt that Orton had designs for her. But now, he was playing close to the vest, and she had no glimpse into his inner thoughts, no hint as to what those designs might be. It scared her, this not knowing.

But the thing that Elektra hated the most about the Orton situation, even more than the impending threat of the Legend Killer himself, was that it separated her from Batista. During the week, they had never had much time together to begin with. House shows were not an ideal place, being so unstructured and presenting a greater chance of getting caught. Plus, this time around, Triple H had kept a closer eye on her than normal. Despite accepting her story, it was obvious that he didn't trust her. His constant presence made Elektra want to scream, but she knew that it was easier to acquiesce to his demands than to rebel against them. Rebelling would give him a reason to be even more suspicious.

At least 'appearances sake' only extended to the locker room and arena. Since Taboo Tuesday, the Game had shown no interest in resuming their physical relationship. Personally, Elektra was relieved. She didn't think that she could even fake it any more for Triple H. Besides, it would have her feel like she was cheating on Batista. Ironic, since by all appearances, the Game was the one she was cheating on.

All these thoughts swirled around in her brain as she sat in the locker room with Triple H and Flair, both of whom were preparing for the main event. The Game was in a rare good mood. Eric Bischoff, still outraged at the indignity he had suffered at Taboo Tuesday, had taken the night off, declaring that the inmates were running the asylum. So naturally, Triple H had to stake a leadership claim of his own, announcing that Evolution would be running Monday Night Raw for the evening.

The celebration had been interrupted by Randy Orton, using the leverage he had earned last Tuesday to demand another World title match. After a few moments of thought, the Game made Orton an interesting proposition: a rematch with Flair; the prize being Orton's right to a number-one contender's spot. If Orton won, he would automatically face Triple H at Survivor Series in a month. If the Legend Killer lost, however...he would _never_ be able to wrestle for the World Heavyweight Championship as long as Triple H held the gold. Even Elektra, with no personal stake or interest in the match, had to admit that the idea was intriguing.

There had been only one black spot to mar the otherwise perfect evening. On their way back to the locker room, the Game decided to pause and chat up a loitering Christy Hemme. He was obviously doing it more to irk Elektra than to actually flirt, and Elektra found it amusing that he assumed she cared. The games ended, however, when Chris Jericho brushed by rudely, bumping into Triple H shoulder first and not even bothering to toss off an apology. The former Undisputed Champion was preoccupied with his loss of the Intercontinental title to Shelton Benjamin, and didn't even realize that his life was in jeopardy until he was pulled around violently and brought face to face with three angry faces.

Triple H had been about to utilize the numbers game of three on one when Maven stepped in. Then Chris Benoit. Then Tajiri and William Regal. As other members of the Raw roster materialized to back up Chris Jericho, the Game suddenly decided that it would a good time to return to the locker room, and had beat a hasty retreat. Elektra had been almost unable to stifle her laughter.

Triple H had shaken it off, though, and was now talking strategy with Flair, who was less than enthusiastic about facing his former protegee yet again. "I'm telling you, Ric, there's no _way_ we can lose this time. Orton is stepping in that ring tonight with the sixteen-time World Champion, the _Nature Boy_. I'll be at ringside to make sure that things go our way. And even if Orton does manage to pull it off–as unlikely as that will be–Big Dave will be waiting in the back, and once the match is over, we'll deliver a world-class beating to Orton that he'll never forget." The Game chuckled. "Hell, we'll deliver that beating even if he loses the match." His expression became hard again. "That'll teach that little bastard not to mess with Evolution."

Flair grinned. "That's why you're the Champ, Champ!" He looked over, and his expression grew serious. "What about her?"

Triple H glanced over at Elektra. His eyes drank her in, the low-cut white top and denim skirt hugging her curves. "What _about _her?"

"You really think it's safe to leave her back here all alone?" Flair asked, lowering his voice. "I mean, what with Orton and–"

The Game laughed. "Naitch, you worry too much! I've got the situation covered: Dave's gonna watch her during the match, and of course, she'll be at ringside for the bloody aftermath that's going to follow."

"Oh, thanks for talking about me like I'm not here!" Elektra called from her vantage point near the monitor. "I'm not helpless; I don't need someone watching me every second."

"Really?" Triple H crossed the room, leaning close to her. His voice was low and dangerous. "You want to tell me where you were last Tuesday?"

Elektra stared up into his eyes without flinching. "I _told_ you where I was."

"Sure you did." The Game answered, his tone indicating that he thought otherwise. "Like I said, Dave'll watch you during the match."

Elektra glared at him, making sure that her outward expression didn't betray the utter elation she was feeling inside. Triple H thought he was insuring her fidelity when all he was really doing was delivering her right back into Batista's arms. _Only another hour..._she thought to herself. _One more hour, and I'll be free of you, you bastard..._ Her stomach was twisting in anticipation. Her knees were starting to shake. But Elektra kept all of this inside, letting the Game believe that his perfect little world was not about to end.

The door opened and Batista stepped in. "They're looking for you, Ric. Your match is up next."

"You hear that, Naitch?" The Game turned to the Nature Boy. "It's showtime." He looked back at Batista. "Like I said, keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't leave, blah blah blah. You hang out with her a lot...maybe she'll actually listen to you." He leaned in closer, whispering. "Just to warn you: she's got a real attitude tonight. Don't let her get to you, and if she pisses you off, let me know and I'll deal with it later."

Batista didn't crack a smile, though Elektra could tell by the way his face was twitching that he found the whole speech highly amusing. "Will do, Hunter," the Animal answered.

Triple H grinned. "Come on, Ric," He clapped Flair on the shoulder, and the two headed out the door. As soon as it swung shut behind them, Batista turned to Elektra, his features crinkling in amusement. "So...I hear you have an attitude tonight."

Elektra smiled, standing and walking slowly toward the Animal. "Maybe. If I piss you off, will you tell Hunter?"

"Maybe." They were only a few feet apart now. Batista stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He stared into her eyes. "I missed you," he said softly, pushing a loose tendril of hair back from her face.

Elektra reached out, putting her hands on his biceps, running her fingers over the decorative designs inked on his skin. "I missed you, too," she whispered. Looking up into his eyes, she could see the need, the yearning to touch her. They had agreed to wait until after telling Triple H, but Elektra realized that, just like Batista, she didn't want to wait that long. Tiptoeing up slightly, she put her mouth against his ear. "Lock the door."

Batista turned to the door, twisting the lock until the tumbler clicked into place. Turning back to her, he reached up and hesitantly touched her face, cupping her cheek in his hand. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

The moment their mouths met, it was as though all the fragile layers of self-control they had built up over the past few days had been abruptly stripped away. Batista gripped the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the silken darkness of her hair as the kiss intensified. Elektra felt her mouth melt open; felt his tongue touch hers. She pressed her body against his as they backed away from the door. Batista's hands were on her body now, cupping her breasts, the heat of his desire radiating through the fabric to her skin. He reached behind her, locating and tugging at the strings that held her top in place. The garment sagged and lost its form-fitting shape as it began to peel away from her body. They broke apart long enough for Batista to pull the top over her head and drop it on the floor beside him. He stared longingly at the curves of her body, running his hands over her bare skin.

Elektra leaned up, her mouth almost touching his, and slowly trailed her tongue over his lower lip. The simple seductive gesture was enough to incite the Animal, and he pushed her against the shelves as he kissed her hungrily. His hands traveled down to her waist, finding and undoing the button on her short skirt. Pulling back again, he knelt down and gently tugged down both the skirt and her lacy underwear, taking care to guide the garments over one foot, then the other. Running his hands back up the length of her legs, he gently nibbled her inner thigh with his teeth. He gripped her thighs, and standing, lifted her up against the cubbyholes. Elektra reached out with both hands, bracing herself on the upper shelves and moaning softly as he entered her.

Batista's rhythm was gentle at first, but as Elektra began to gasp with pleasure, he thrust into her harder and harder, each press of his body driving her back into the shelving. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulder; his tongue tracing slow circles on her skin. The edge of a board dug into her spine, and Elektra couldn't keep back a sharp hiss of pain. Instantly, Batista stopped. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern creasing his brow. "Did I hurt you?"

Elektra shook her head. "I'm fine..." she gasped. "Please, Dave...don't stop... don't stop..." She was almost woozy from the sensations flooding her body. She wrapped her legs around him, merging him even deeper into her. A ripple of pleasure shot through her, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning too loudly. Then, in a rush, she climaxed, and it took all she had left not to cry out. Batista followed soon after, and he slumped against her, burying his face in her neck, trying to catch his breath. Elektra slowly let go of the shelves and lifted his head up. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him gently on the lips.

After a long moment, they reluctantly separated, and Batista set her gently back down on the floor. Elektra had to grip the shelves for support lest her knees give out beneath her. She lazily picked her clothes back off the floor and put them back on. She twisted her arms behind her back, trying to angle them in the right direction so she could retie the strings on her top. She was so focused on the task that she didn't even realize Batista was watching her until he began chuckling. She turned to see him smiling at her in amusement. "Need some help?" he asked.

Elektra couldn't help but laugh as well. God, she must have looked ridiculous. "If you don't mind." Batista stepped behind her, pushing her hair over one shoulder, carefully pulling the thin strings taut across her bare back and tying them into neat bows. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the spot between her shoulder blades, wrapping his arms around her waist as he trailed a line of kisses to her shoulder.

Elektra made a small contented sound in her throat, letting her gaze drift back to the monitor. Her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, _shit_!"

Batista quickly pulled back. "What? What is it?"

Elektra couldn't answer; only pointed at the screen, her arm shaking. Batista followed the direction of her finger, and saw what had horrified her. "Oh, _shit_!" he exclaimed, echoing her sentiment.

In the ring, Flair had just pinned Orton, thanks in part to an unseen chair shot by Triple H. The Game pulled the exhausted Nature Boy out of the squared circle, raising his arm in victory. Inside the ropes, Orton was just now getting to his knees, looking up to glare balefully at the World Heavyweight Champion.

Triple H ignored him, however, and leading Flair by the arm, began walking back up the Titantron. He didn't even get halfway up before he stopped dead and began backing away, his path blocked by the advancing figures of Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit and Maven. The Game yanked Flair along, intending to take his leave via one of the side exits. However, he soon discovered that this way was blocked as well by three or four Raw Superstars, all leaning over the barricade and cracking their knuckles. Triple H ran to the other side, but it was the same story. Now the Game was trapped, and he knew it. The World Heavyweight Champion backed up toward the ring, holding up his hands and trying to reassert his authority. But from the look in his eyes, it was obvious that he was starting to panic.

Elektra was all too aware of what was happening. If she and Batista didn't get out to that ring right now, Triple H would start putting two and two together. Maybe not now, but when it was over, he would wonder why his enforcer and his girlfriend were noticeably absent when he needed them the most. Elektra groaned inwardly, wondering why the Raw roster couldn't have waited until next week to hold their little revolution.

"Come on!" Batista grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. He tugged on it for a few seconds before remembering that he had locked it. Unsnapping the lock, he threw the door open with a growl of irritation, still holding Elektra's hand as they practically ran down the hall.

* * *

Batista burst through the curtains with a roar, hurling his massive body toward the ring. Before he could even grab onto the ropes and climb in, however, he was brought to his knees by a sneak attack from Maven, Jericho and Benoit. The three Superstars aimed closed fists at his head, forcing him to shield himself and fall to the floor.

Elektra, unable to keep up with the Animal's rapid pace, pushed her way through the black drapery, pausing at the top of the ramp as she caught her breath. Looking down, she saw the three Superstars still attacking Batista, driving their knees and boots into his unprotected ribs. She could see his grimace of pain even from that distance. The sight of Batista in agony turned her vision to blood red as she was filled with a burning spark of anger. "Get away from him!" The words flowed from her mouth in a shrill scream as she ran down the ramp. Locking her fingers together, she slammed a two-handed fist into the side of Benoit's head. The Rabid Wolverine stumbled back, stunned. Elektra then hurled herself at Maven, taking down the surprised Tough Enough winner with a bastard version of a Lou Thesz press. "You son of a bitch!" she spat, swinging at his head with wild fists. Maven held up his arms, trying to shield himself from her rage.

He was saved, luckily, by the intervention of Jericho, who stepped in and grabbed Elektra by the hair, hauling her off Maven. But still Elektra fought, kicking and clawing at Y2J as best she could. She didn't care what others thought; the darkness inside her may have returned, but this time she was using it to protect the man she loved.

On the other side of the ring, both Triple H and the other Raw Superstars stopped in their tracks and watched the spectacle in disbelief. Flair, having been the victim of a post-match RKO, was mercifully unconscious.

Jericho gave Elektra's hair a sharp tug. "Calm down!" he yelled. "Would you just calm down!" He finally looped his arm around her neck in a choke hold, ignoring the scratches she inflicted on him. Her struggles eventually weakened and stopped, as the flow of oxygen was slowly cut off from her brain. Y2J loosened the hold a little, then looked over at Benoit. "Hey, Chris! Look what I got!"

The Rabid Wolverine regained his equilibrium, and turned to stare at Elektra. His eyes were blazing with hate.

Jericho released his grip on Elektra's hair, and used his free hand to restrain her arms. "Come on, Benoit!" he shouted encouragingly. "Make this bitch pay for what she did to Eugene!" Loosening his hold on her neck, he drew an imaginary line across her chest, just above her breasts, with his index finger.

Benoit stepped closer, looking around at the fans for approval. He received a mixed reaction: Elektra still had a lot of detractors, but she had also gained quite a few fans. It didn't matter; Benoit would have done it with or without their permission. Tensing slightly, he pulled back and then hit her across the chest with a massive right-hand chop. The crowd "WOOO"ed.

The pain that blossomed in her sternum made Elektra feel as though someone had stabbed her with a carving knife and then twisted the blade. She had never felt such agony before. The blow drove all the air out of her lungs, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish as she tried (unsuccessfully) to suck oxygen back into her body. For a moment, she wondered if Benoit had actually caved her chest in.

She slumped forward, barely able to stand, but Jericho pulled her upright again. "Another!" he cheered.

"No! Let her go, Chris!" Both Benoit and Jericho hesitated as Randy Orton leaned over the ropes, staring at them. "Let her go. She had nothing to do with this. Come on, Jericho, let her go." Reluctantly, Jericho released Elektra and she fell into a heap on the floor, coughing and inhaling breath after precious breath. Her chest felt like it was on fire. Orton looked down at her; his expression unreadable. "She's not the one we're after." He turned sharply, jabbing his finger in the Game's direction. "_He is_!"

Hearing this, Triple H's last thread of self-confidence snapped, and he practically dived over the barricade, trying to put as much distance between him and the rest of the locker room as possible. He didn't even get his other leg over before he was grabbed by six or seven sets of hands and hurled bodily into the ring like a bag of potatoes.

Elektra crawled to Batista's side, pulling herself along with her hands, not even able to get to her knees. The Animal's eyes were squinched shut in pain, his breathing labored. She gently touched his side and he winced.

Slowly, and not even really knowing why, Elektra pulled herself to her feet, using the ring curtain as support. Teetering on her high heels, she grabbed the ropes and hauled herself up onto the ring apron. Triple H was in the center, on his knees, trying to beg off the beating that was about to ensue. He saw Elektra, and held out his hand. His eyes were almost pleading with her.

Elektra stared back at him, still trying to catch her breath. She knew that he was expecting her to step in, to show him that bleeding-heart sympathy he normally despised, to defend him _somehow_. Elektra couldn't believe how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. She had been less than an hour away from severing ties with Triple H completely. Now, she was standing on the ring apron, trying to figure out how to save him. It wasn't fair. After all he had done to her, he still demanded her loyalty, still _needed _her help. But even if they managed to make it out of here intact, there was no way he was going to reward her with her freedom.

Her gaze moved from Triple H to Orton, and their eyes locked. In that instant, despite all the animosity and pain they had inflicted on one another, she and Randy understood each other; understood what he was trying to do. And in that moment, Elektra understood what she had to do.

With looking at Triple H, Elektra dropped to her knees, sliding off the apron. She knelt down, and putting her arms gently around Batista, helped him to his feet.

"Babe?" The Game's voice held its first note of panic. "Babe...what're you doing?"

Elektra didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she took hold of Batista's arm, draping it across her shoulders, letting him lean against her for support. She turned toward the ramp.

"Babe? Elektra? Where're you going?" Now Triple H was definitely frantic. "Elektra, get back here. Please, babe, I _swear_ I won't get mad; just get back here and _help me_."

Squaring her shoulders, Elektra held onto the Animal, and walked slowly up the Titantron, away from the ring, away from the roster...away from the Game.

"Elektra? _Elektra_!" Seeing that she was really leaving him, Triple H finally lost all control. "You _bitch_!" he roared. "_You fucking bitch_! _Get back here, you goddamn whore_!"

Elektra ignored his rants, which eventually stopped altogether as the mob closed in.


	23. Chapter 23: Plotting Destruction

Chapter 23: Plotting Destruction

Elektra and Batista finally stopped in a deserted side hallway, the Animal almost fully recovered from the beating he had received. Straightening up with only a slight wince of pain, he turned toward Elektra and gently took her face in his hands. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you?" he asked anxiously, his eyes searching her for any possible marks. His features twisted in anger when he saw the already-forming bruise across her chest, courtesy of Benoit's chop. "Those assholes..." he muttered. "When I get ahold of them..."

Elektra shook her head, even though it still hurt to breathe. "Please, Dave, I'm fine." She stepped closer, resting her head against his chest as though she were exhausted. "There's been enough violence for tonight. I don't want you getting hurt any more because of me." As she stood there, the full realization of what she had done and what it would mean for the future hit her with all its force, and she suddenly burst into tears. "Oh my God, Dave, what did I _do_? He's going to kill me! _He's going to kill me_!"

"No, he won't!" Batista wrapped his huge arms around her, pulling her against him. "Listen to me, baby, he _won't_." He could feel her shaking with emotion and fear. "I won't let him hurt you. I won't let him _touch _you. I'll protect you, I promise." He gently rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair. "I promise." he repeated.

After a few minutes, Elektra finally stopped crying. Pulling back, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, taking a deep breath. "I guess I might as well get it over with," she whispered. "I'm going to go tell him the truth."

"No, you're not," Batista interrupted. "You're going back to the hotel, and _I'm_ going to talk to him." Elektra started to protest, but the Animal placed a finger over her lips, shushing her. "He's going to be furious. The moment he sees you, he'll tear you apart. I don't want you near him until he's calmed down."

Elektra was silent as she mulled this over. She couldn't dispute Batista's logic. "All right," she agreed. "You go talk to him. But you're just going to run interference. _That's all_. When he asks, you say that you were too out of it to know what was going on, and by the time your head cleared, I was gone. When he gets back to the hotel room, I'm going to tell him it's over."

Batista shook his head violently. "No way. I'm not letting you deal with him on your own."

"Dave," Elektra's voice was quiet and resigned. "I started this thing with Hunter. I stayed with him, even when I hated him, even when I fell for _you,_ because of my own stupid reasons. It's only right that I be the one to end it."

Batista stared at her, admiring her inner strength. She had guts, taking on the Cerebral Assassin all by herself. She had come a lot way from the rookie Diva he had run into in a hallway at Armageddon. From the tone of her voice, it was obvious that she was tired of running away, and this time, she was going to face her fears instead of burying them in the past. But this time, she wouldn't be facing them alone, not if he could help it.

Leaning down, he kissed her and she clung to him, the same way that a drowning man clings to a life preserver in a stormy sea. He embraced her, as unwilling to let her go as she was to release him. Batista finally pulled back, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I love you," he whispered. "Now get of here before he comes back."

Elektra reluctantly stepped back, and started walking down the hallway, in the direction of the parking garage. Batista watched her go, filled with this horrible foreboding, this feeling that he would never see her again. Almost as those she had experienced the same sensation, Elektra stopped, turning back to face him. Their eyes locked, and the look that passed between them spoke more eloquently than words even could. Then she turned back, and vanished around a corner, putting distance between her and him...but more importantly, distance between her and Triple H.

* * *

Elektra paced back and forth across the hotel room. Almost forty minutes had gone by since she had said goodbye to Batista in the hallway, and every second that had passed seemed like an eternity. She had tried everything she could think of to distract herself: watching television, reading a paperback book, listening to music on her IPod...hell, she had even attempted one of those Sudoko puzzles. But it didn't matter; no matter what she did, she couldn't concentrate and she couldn't sit still. Her stomach was clenched so tight with dread that she almost had to bend over to alleviate the pain. Her heart was racing and she felt like she was going to throw up. But at the same, Elektra was completely resigned to whatever fate awaited her. It didn't mean that she had to enjoy the anticipation.

The truth was, she had been unconsciously preparing for this day since five minutes after meeting Triple H...when she had first encountered Dave Batista. And even though she had tried to rationalize and even deny her own emotions, she couldn't ignore those feelings anymore. The way her relationship had been with the Game for the last few months meant that any breakup between them was destined to be long, messy and painful. Of course, she hadn't anticipated a full-blown locker room revolution, but then again, she had underestimated Randy Orton on more than one occasion.

For the first time, Elektra saw just how stupid her plans had been from the start. Stephanie McMahon had been right: she couldn't lock herself away in a gilded cage forever just because of one man's actions six years ago. Ever since the rape, she had assumed that nothing would ever be as important to her as her desperate need to be safe. But now, after meeting Batista, after falling in love...she realized that her sense of security was nothing compared to the all-consuming desire to _feel_ again. She had never experienced such feelings for any man before, not even her ex-boyfriend, and it seemed like so long since she had felt emotions with such pain and acuity. She hadn't even known how much she needed love until Dave Batista had stolen her heart. And it wasn't just the physical aspect...although, God yes, that was _incredible_. No, it was the emotional component; knowing that she was connected to someone so completely that even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Elektra would have suffered a thousand Pedigrees rather than give that up.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Elektra ran to it, peering anxiously through the peephole. Batista stood on the other side, glancing back and forth down the hallway. Elektra opened the door a crack. "Dave, what you _doing_ here?" she whispered fiercely. "Hunter will be here any moment–"

"Hunter's gone," Batista interjected quietly.

For a moment, Elektra didn't understand. "Gone?" she asked slowly. "What do you mean, 'gone'? He's not–"

Batista saw where her frazzled mind was leading and quickly cut her off. "No, no, not that. He _left_. By the time I got back from the trainer's room, he was already gone. Flair was there–none too happy, might I add–and told me that Hunter just grabbed his suitcase and left the building. No one knows where he went, and no one known when he'll be back."

Elektra was stunned. "So...what does that mean for us?"

"It means..." Batista paused, glancing over at the door. "Can I come in?" Elektra quickly opened it all the way and the Animal stepped inside. He nudged the door closed with his foot. "Thanks. It _means_ that A: Hunter won't be hanging around, watching you every minute, and B: He'll get some much-needed time to cool off." Batista took Elektra's hand in his, lifting it up to press it to his lips. "And whenever he _does_ come back...we'll tell him the truth. _Together_." Batista looked deep into her eyes. No matter how many times he did it, he always got the same jolt he had gotten the first time. "This isn't about me or you...it's about _us_...and if Hunter is hoping to get revenge on you, he'll have to go through me first."

Elektra couldn't speak at this; she was too overwhelmed with emotion. Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

"Hey, hey!" Batista pulled her close, using his hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I'm not leaving you, okay? You'll always have me. Okay?" Elektra looked up and finally nodded. The Animal smiled. "Oh, and I almost forgot: the trainer sent a little present back with me." He lifted up his other hand, on which dangled a plastic shopping bag. Inside were two icepacks.

Elektra couldn't suppress a snort of laughter at seeing this. She wrapped her arms around Batista, gently, so as not to aggravate his injured ribs. "I love you," she whispered. "God...I love you so much."

"I love you, too." Batista answered. Elektra lifted her head up, and when she did, he kissed her. The embrace soon became more passionate, and Batista dropped the bag on the floor, lifting Elektra up into his arms and moving over toward the bed.

* * *

The nearby pub was fairly empty for a Monday night, with only a few regulars scattered along the bar. No one took any notice of the four men sitting in a corner booth. Three of them were drinking beer, the other was hunched over a water bottle. Being the dedicated wrestler that he was, Chris Benoit rarely went out to begin with, and even then, preferred to hydrate rather than celebrate.

He wasn't the only somber one; the four Superstars were surprisingly serious, considering the major coup they had just pulled off. Randy Orton in particular hadn't spoken a word other than his drink order. At this moment, the Legend Killer was staring off into space, perhaps reliving the moment when he had RKO'd a nearly senseless Triple H. Or maybe he was thinking about the one Evolution member he'd let get away.

Finally, Chris Jericho spoke up, voicing the one thought that had been drifting in and out of the others' minds. "Hey, Randy..." Orton looked over when he heard his name. "Elektra...why did you let her go, man? After what she did to us...after what she did to _you_...I would have thought you'd be _dying_ to take a shot at her. But instead, you just let her walk away. Why?"

The Legend Killer, who was sitting next to the wall, didn't answer at first; merely took a sip of his beer. Finally, he turned back to Y2J, his face creasing in a cold smile. "Believe me, Chris, there's no one here who hates that bitch more than me. And _trust me_, she _will_ be dealt with."

"So why didn't you just let us finish her off?" Benoit interjected. "She was all alone, with none of her _men_ to help her–"

Orton waved his hand, silencing the Rabid Wolverine. "That's all well and good, Benoit, but I've got a plan of my own, and it's a little more subtle than chopping her outside of the ring." He lowered his voice, leaning forward slightly. "Listen, if I had let you go through that tonight, it would have only made us look like the bad guys _and_ it would have strengthened her relationship with Hunter. As long as she's still part of Evolution, we can't go near her without going through the other three." Again the cold smile. "We won't be able to _touch_ her...so we'll just let Hunter do that for us."

"What do you mean?" Maven asked, setting his bottle on the table and folding his arms over his chest.

Orton looked around at the other three men. "If Triple H happened to find out something about Elektra...that she was–oh, say–_unfaithful_...then what he would do to her as punishment would be worse than anything the four of us could come up with."

Jericho took another swig of his beer. "See, whenever you say it like that, I have to believe that it's more than hypothetical. I have to believe that you already have someone in mind."

Orton didn't answer, but instead, reached into his pocket, pulled something out and tossed it on the table. The other Superstars jumped.

"Jesus!" Maven yelped. "Warn us the next time you're going to do that! That thing almost landed in my drink!"

Jericho nudged the crumpled wad of lace and elastic with the base of his beer bottle. "Looks like a thong to me," he remarked. He turned to Orton. "Hey, Randy, is there some hidden lifestyle that you're not telling us about?"

Orton punched Y2J in the shoulder. "Knock it off!" he snapped. "It belongs to _her_!"

Quiet reigned around the table as this sunk in. Finally, Jericho spoke slowly. "So...how did you..." His voice trailed off and his face lit up in a grin. "Oh, man! Don't tell me you were able to nail that! 'Cause I thought she hated you..."

Orton glared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. "Only in my wildest dreams, man." He picked up the undergarment and tucked it carefully back into his pocket. "No...this is a little souvenir from a nightclub in Milwaukee. The night of Taboo Tuesday. I snagged it when she left." He looked around the table. "See, I was walking around upstairs, looking for a little fun, when I happened to glance into a private room." His features transformed into a leer. "What do I see? Her with her legs spread out to _here_–" Orton stretched his arms out as far as they would go. "–and Dave Batista going down on her!"

A stunned silence came over the table. Maven's mouth was hanging open, Jericho was blinking very hard, and Benoit had raised both eyebrows. Maven was the first one to speak. "Are you _serious_?" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Elektra and the _Animal_?" The Tough Enough winner leaned back in his seat, chuckling. "Man, wouldn't _that_ be a blow to the Game's ego! When he finds out, he is gonna _flip_–"

"We're not going to tell him." Orton interrupted in a flat voice.

Maven's grin disappeared and his face registered confusion. "But I thought you–"

The Legend Killer put his hands on the table, pushing his bottle aside. "Listen, what do we have to gain by telling H the truth? Nothing, if you think about it, because Elektra has a 318-pound Animal to protect her from Hunter." Orton's voice dropped to a whisper. "The only way to hurt her is to make sure that she has _no one_ to turn to when the Game finds out."

Jericho frowned. "Wait...I'm confused. Are we telling Hunter or not? How exactly are we supposed to inform him and take out Dave Batista at the same time?"

"By convincing both of them that she's fucking someone else." Randy's voice was quiet, but the total lack of emotion in his voice made his words carry. The Legend Killer folded his hands together, leaning forward. "Here's what we're going to do..."


	24. Chapter 24: The End of Everything

Chapter 24: The End of Everything

Batista and Elektra lay together in the dark, wrapped in each other's arms. The Animal gently ran his fingers over her shoulder, her back; resting his chin on top of her head. Elektra felt her eyes drifting shut, lulled by the security she felt in Batista's embrace.

"Dave?" she whispered.

"Hmm?" Batista murmured, kissing her hair.

Elektra inched her body closer, pressing her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe...life is trying to tell us we're not supposed to be together?"

Batista opened his eyes, and slowly propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her in surprise. "Where did you get that idea?" he asked, sounding bemused.

Elektra rolled over onto her back, stretching one arm lazily over her head. "I don't know, it's just–whenever we try to be together, something always happens. And yes, most of the time, it's my fault, but what happened tonight..." Her voice trailed off, and it was a while before she spoke again. "I can't help thinking that something really bad is going to come from this, and when it happens, we _won't_ be able to recover."

"Hey," Batista reached over and touched her cheek. "_Nothing _is going to happen to us." He carefully pulled her to him, slipping a protective arm around her shoulders. "And as for these hints that life is apparently throwing at us...why would we feel this way if we weren't meant to be together?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_ were meant to be together," Elektra replied. "And look what happened to them."

"Yeah, but Romeo and Juliet _weren't real_," Batista reminded her gently. "You and me..._we're real_. This–" He took her hand and placed it over his heart. She could feel it beating beneath her palm. "_This _is real." Batista finished. He leaned down and kissed her softly, his lips covering her own. "That's real, too." he whispered.

Elektra had already pillowed her head on his arm again, her eyes fluttering closed. "I love you..." she whispered as she drifted off into sleep.

Batista smiled, gently moving her hair back from her face as she slept. "I love you, too," he answered, hoping that she heard it in her dreams.

* * *

The following week was the closest thing to bliss that Elektra had ever known since coming to Raw. With Triple H gone, there was no need to play the part of his egotistical girlfriend. She began smiling and laughing more, and the entire roster, Superstars and Divas alike, started to see the person she had been before Evolution. Her days were spent repairing old friendships and making new ones...and her nights were spent in Batista's arms.

Flair had expressed his disapproval of their actions since Tuesday, saying that it wasn't right; that they were only asking for trouble by sneaking around behind the Game's back. Unfortunately for the Nature Boy, there was very little he could do to stop it. At least Batista and Elektra kept all of their lovemaking behind closed doors; not that it made much difference. By the end of the week, everyone in the locker room knew what was going on, and the majority of them didn't care. So what if Elektra was sleeping with Batista? The only thing it seemed to be doing was making her a happier person.

But all good things eventually come to an end. The reality check came a week later, courtesy of a video feed from Stamford. After being AWOL for seven days, Triple H made his first appearance. Far from lying in wait in a hallway somewhere, he had merely returned to Connecticut, probably to heal his wounded pride. During the segment, the Game questioned the roster, asking them point-blank if they had done the right thing by humiliating him. He proclaimed that he was the biggest star in the industry; that he was the reason the other Superstars were even able to put food on their tables. Triple H concluded by saying that without him, Raw was history.

Elektra would have chalked it up to just another one of the Game's power trips, if she hadn't happened to hear the postscript to his little declaration. Just as he was about to leave, Triple H stopped and stepped close to the camera, his expression a portrait of barely contained rage, uttering this chilling phrase: "And as for _you_, _Elektra_...I'll deal with you _personally_ next week."

As soon as she heard it, Elektra barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up. Now there was a deadline; an imaginary clock ticking down the hours between the present and her future doom. She understood now how a death row inmate must feel once the date of execution has been set.

Every day after that, she could feel her stomach squeezing tighter and tighter, until she was barely able to get food down. She started to jump at small sounds and developed an acute dread of being alone. Most of these fear she hid from Batista. Even though he had always been supportive, and even though he had promised to stand beside her when she told Triple H the news, he simply didn't know what she was going through. No offense, but the Animal was six-foot-five, weighed over three hundred pounds, and was built like a brick shithouse. He would never know what it was like to live in constant fear of the Game.

The fateful Monday finally arrived, and Batista stood with Flair in the parking lot, waiting to intercept the Game as soon he showed up. The Animal was trying his hardest not to look as anxious as he felt.

"You know," Flair muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "If you had just listened to me a few weeks ago, we wouldn't be standing here right now."

"Shut up, Ric," Batista growled. He was in no mood for the Nature Boy's patronizing. Right now, the only thing that concerned him was what mood Triple H would be in...but more importantly, how Elektra must be holding up. He knew that she had not been well these past few days, and that she had kept quiet rather than worry him. Not that it matter; he had always been able to tell when something wasn't right with her. Batista wished desperately that he hadn't left her alone in the makeup room, but there had been no other choice. _Someone _had to be present to calm down the Game, and unfortunately, that task fell to him. As was becoming more and more frequent, the Animal was filled with a white-hot anger over what Triple H had done to Elektra. Even when he wasn't there, he still obviously had a hold over her, one that was slowly driving her insane. What possible reason could there be to keep an innocent young woman in constant fear?

Batista knew the answer: to satisfy the Game's enormous ego.

A car sped into the garage, its brakes squealing as it swung into an empty spot. In one fluid motion, Triple H opened the door, stepped out, and tossed his keys to an unwitting intern who had chosen this particular moment to amble past. "_You_," the Game ordered harshly. "Get the suitcase out of the back and take it to my locker room." He didn't need to say which one. If you didn't know the location of Evolution's locker room by the time the show started, you might as well revoke your right to live.

Triple H stormed past Batista and Flair, not even bothering to look over at them. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Where's that little _bitch_?"

The Animal easily matched strides with the Game; the Nature Boy had to jog to keep up. "Easy, Hunter, calm down–" Batista answered, trying to prevent himself from losing his cool.

Triple H stopped, turning to glare at him. His eyes were brimming with wrath. "No, Dave, you don't tell me to 'calm down', not after what _she _did!" He looked from one man to the other. "I was surrounded in the middle of that ring, about to get my ass kicked, and what does she do to help? _She leaves_. She picks your ass up and _fucking__leaves_. Oh, she's willing to throw herself down for fucking Eugene; she's even willing to get chopped in the tits for _you_, Dave...but what does she do to the one person that actually matters; the _one person_ who controls her fate? _Nothing_. Absolutely _nothing_. So don't stand there, and tell me to fucking calm down!" The Game's face was bright red now. A large vein was throbbing in his forehead.

"Hunter," Batista managed to keep his voice calm. "I know you're angry, all right? But just hear me out for five minutes before you go off on a tear and do something you'll regret later."

Triple H looked down the hallway, then back at Batista. His whole body was trembling and he was breathing very heavily through his nose. "_Fine_." He glanced down at his Rolex. "You've got five minutes. _Go_.

* * *

Elektra swirled the large makeup brush in some loose powder, carefully applying it to her nose and cheekbones. She stepped back from the counter, making sure that none of the light dust had settled on her clothing. Despite Batista's encouragement, she'd been unable to wear white tonight, even though it was her most complimentary color. Something about tonight...whether it was the fear of Triple H's return or just some random foreboding of her own...either way, it didn't feel right to don her signature shade. Elektra looked in the mirror, examining the short red pleated skirt, the black tank top embellished with a tribal design in darker red. Didn't they say never to wave a red flag in front of a bull? Elektra let out a short bitter laugh at this thought. Well, Triple H hadn't come charging at her yet.

She picked up a tube of lip gloss, trying to apply it to her lips. But she couldn't keep her hand steady enough to apply the deep red shade. Elektra finally threw the tube down. It bounced off the countertop and hit the floor, rolling back into a corner. "Dammit," she whispered to herself. "God-fucking-dammit, get ahold of yourself." She covered her face with her hands, trying to swallow the tears climbing up her throat.

The knock at the makeup room door rudely brought her back to reality. Her stomach plummeted. For an instant, she felt her heart stop, then resume its rhythmic pumping. She looked up, attempting to get enough moisture into her mouth to form words properly. "Come in," she called, hoping that the fear didn't show in her voice.

The door opened and Elektra's eyes grew wide as Randy Orton stepped in the room.

She spun around, horror visible in her features. "What the hell are you doing here? _Get out now_!" She strode toward him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward the door. "You have no idea how bad it will be for me if Hunter finds you here!"

Randy gently tugged his arm free. "Look, the door's open, you don't need to worry about me doing anything, all right? I have something I need to tell you."

Elektra shook her head. "We have nothing to talk about. Just go, Randy, before he gets here."

"That's what I'm trying to explain to you," Orton interrupted. "Hunter's not here yet, and I've got Benoit as a lookout. _As soon_ as H shows up, Benoit'll come back here and I'll leave. But this is _really important_."

Elektra stepped back, staring at the Legend Killer warily. "So say it then. Tell me what's so important, and then leave."

Orton took a step forward, but only a step. "Triple H lied to me, Elektra. He lied to both of us. He told us when we joined that Evolution was supposed to be the future...but in reality, it was only to protect _him_. Him and his precious World Heavyweight Championship. He kept me under his thumb for all that time; letting me up only after I won the World Title, just so he could crush me." Another step. "And two weeks ago, when I saw you up on the apron, I could tell that you felt the same way. You're just as tired of being lied to as I am." Elektra scoffed and began to turn away. Orton closed the distance between them, taking hold off her arm and turning her back around. "Look, I know you hate me for what I've done. I don't expect you to change that opinion. But you can't deny that in that moment, there was a connection between us. In that instant, we understood one another."

Elektra pulled free, turning back to the mirror. Orton was right; she couldn't deny the understanding that had occurred between them without words. And she couldn't ignore the opinions she had formed about Evolution. She slowly turned around on her heel, staring at the Legend Killer; her expression unreadable. "So there was a _connection_. So what? You still haven't told me why you're here."

Orton started to raise his hand up to touch her, thought better of it, and left his arm hanging at his side. "_Everyone_ knows that you don't care about Triple H anymore; that you're going to leave him for Dave. When Hunter finds out, he's going to be furious. Dave's a monster, but he can't protect you on his own. _I can help_. Jericho, Benoit, Maven...those guys will do anything I say. We can back you _and_ Dave up. And once we win at Survivor Series on Sunday..." Orton lowered his voice. "We can make Hunter pay for how he treated you."

Something about the way he said those last words struck a familiar chord with Elektra. Hadn't she heard Triple H say the same thing, in almost an identical tone of voice, about Orton? The peculiar sense of deja vu was enough to make her dubious; to make her cross her arms over her chest and ask in a skeptical voice: "So what's the price, Randy?" She took a small step toward him. "What do you want from me in exchange for this..._protection_?" Elektra mentally braced herself for the worst.

Orton looked at her, and his expression was completely serious. "A kiss."

* * *

"...And what could she have done?" Batista continued. "I mean, there she is, barely even able to stand after getting chopped by Benoit; she manages to pull herself up to the ring, and what does she see? Four of the toughest Superstars on Raw, not to mention you, _glaring_ at her. What was she supposed to? Take all of them on at once before getting the crap kicked out of her, like the rest of us?"

The Animal could see that his little speech seemed to be working. Triple H's face had lost its florid hue and his raging expression had subsided back to his customary scowl. "She got _scared_, Hunter. That's all. There's no hidden agendas or anything like that. Plain and simple, the girl just got scared. After all, can you really blame her? Do you think she wants to be alone with Orton in the ring, after what he did to her?" Batista paused. "As for me...I think she was just trying to help the only person she could. Remember, she could have left all of us out there." The Animal clapped the Game on the shoulder. "My point is, don't go in there guns blazing. You're only going to frighten her more, and if that happens, she's likely to do something really damaging." Batista couldn't believe that he was saying this crap. All he wanted to do was punch the Cerebral Assassin in the face and be done with it. But Elektra had insisted that the diplomatic route was the best way to go, and the last thing Batista wanted to do was let her down.

Triple H sighed, sounding more weary of listening than placated. "All right, _whatever_. I'll keep my voice down." He jammed his finger in Batista's face. "But as soon as we get back there, I _demand_ an apology. It doesn't matter whether that _slut_ was scared or not; she embarrassed _me_ and she embarrassed _Evolution_ two weeks ago."

"Whatever you say, Champ," Batista replied mildly. _Like hell!_ his mind raged.

The three of them resumed walking again, heading in the direction of the makeup room. It seemed like Triple H had finally calmed down.

That is, until the world's biggest clusterfuck appeared out of nowhere.

Batista didn't even know where Jericho and Maven came from; he just turned a corner and they were there, leaning casually against some equipment crates. The Game glared at them, but didn't say anything. It would have ended there...if Jericho hadn't called out. "Yo, H, long time, no see!"

"Yeah," Maven added. "Last time we saw you, you were face-down in the middle of the ring."

Triple H's features were starting to twitch again. Batista rolled his eyes, wishing he could shove his fist down the Tough Enough winner's throat. This was the last thing he needed...

"If I were you," Jericho continued. "I'd drop out of Survivor Series right now while I've still got a title belt; otherwise, the Legend Killer's going to find some way to take that, too. I mean, first he takes your dignity, then he steals your girl–"

This last statement was enough to make both the Game and the Animal stop dead in their tracks. When Triple H finally spoke, his voice was deadly calm. "_What did you say_?"

Maven shrugged. "Nothing...except that Randy has been walking around here all night, saying that when he's done dominating you in the ring tonight, he's going to dominate Elektra in the bedroom, just like he's been doing every night since you left."

"–He's been waving some underwear around, pretending that it's hers, that sort of thing." Jericho cut in nonchalantly.

There was silence from both Batista and Triple H. Batista almost wanted to laugh; the idea was so ridiculous. Elektra and Orton? There was a better chance of Hell freezing over. Triple H, on the other hand, looked ready to explode. Slowly, he pulled his World title off his shoulder, letting his arm fall to the side. His fists clenched until the knuckles flushed white. "I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than Batista or Flair. "I knew it. I _knew_ that whore was cheating on me." He brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles slowly and purposefully. "When I get through with her–"

"Hunter–" Batista's amusement had disappeared. "Let's think about this. I mean, consider the source. They're just trying to get to you." His words seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

Jericho and Maven, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying this. "Oh," Y2J added. "One more thing." The three members of Evolution turned to look at him. "Orton mentioned that he was going to make a little visit to Elektra for some pre-match–What was the word he used?"

Maven pondered this for a few seconds. "Encouragement?"

Jericho snapped his fingers. "That's it! Pre-match _encouragement_."

When he heard this, Batista's blood turned to ice. Without even waiting for Triple H, he started running down the hall toward the makeup room, hoping to stop Orton before he put his hands on Elektra. His mantra to her echoed in his ears: _I'll always protect you_...

Some protector he was turning out to be.

* * *

"A kiss?" Elektra repeated.

"And not just a peck on the cheek," Orton added. "I want you to kiss me the way you kiss Dave."

Elektra shook her head, backing away. "No way, _no way_!" She stared hard at the Legend Killer, feeling the first stirring of outrage. "Have you forgotten? Four months ago, you tried to _rape_ me, Randy! You think I want you touching me after that?"

"I've changed!" Orton retorted. "I'm not the jerk I was back in Evolution!"

"Men like _you_ don't _change_!" Elektra shot back. "They just get better at lying!" She narrowed her eyes. "How I even know you aren't lying to me right now?"

Orton looked away, trying to recollect his thoughts. Finally, his eyes met hers again. "What about two weeks ago? Huh?" He moved closer. "I could have let Jericho and Benoit have their way with you, but I didn't. I could have run after you and RKO'd you right on the ramp, but I _didn't_." He glanced back toward the doorway. "I could have closed and locked this door behind me before you even had a chance to scream, but I _didn't_. What more convincing do you need that I've changed?"

As much as she hated to admit it, Elektra knew that Orton was right again. He had had a million opportunities to do her harm while Triple H had been gone, but he hadn't taken any of them. She whirled around toward the mirror, staring down at her hands. "This is insane. This is absolutely insane. I can't even believe I'm considering this."

Slowly, Orton came up behind her. He didn't touch her, but she could still feel his presence. "Come on," he whispered coaxingly. "What do you have to lose?" He moved just a fraction closer, reaching up to push a lock of hair back from her ear. "Besides..." he murmured, his breath brushing her skin. "Don't tell that somewhere, in your darkest dreams, you haven't thought about this."

Elektra gulped in a breath, and it sounded almost like a sob. She didn't answer because she _had_ thought about it. Months ago, she wondered if an attraction to the Legend Killer was at all possible. Now, after witnessing what kind of darkness her own psyche was capable of, she knew that it was entirely possible. She knew that the feeling existed somewhere in her subconscious, and it was always a fear that she would somehow tap into it.

She looked up into the mirror; at the reflection of Orton's face. She could tell by his expression that he could read her thoughts as easily as a book. Reaching up, he gently took her chin in his hand, tilting her face toward his. "Elektra..." he murmured. "Kiss me..." Then, before she could answer, his lips were on hers.

Elektra was too surprised to even pull away. Almost as though a door had been opened somewhere in her mind, that taboo feeling flooded through her, and she kissed him back. _Just pretend he's Dave_...she told herself, and just like that, Orton disappeared. His hands gripped her face, the back of her neck, as his mouth traveled over hers hungrily. Elektra reached up, resting her hand on his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth.

"Elektra?" The single utterance of her name penetrated the haze more quickly than a bucket of cold water. Elektra's eyes flew open and she backed away from Orton, pressing herself against the makeup counter. Every ounce of color drained from her face. "Oh no," she began to wail. "Oh no, oh no, oh no–"

Batista stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame, his huge body frozen in place. From the shocked and hurt expression on the Animal's face, he had seen the entire thing.

Just behind Batista, staring at her with absolute fury in his eyes, was Triple H.


	25. Chapter 25: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

**Author's Note: Just to warn you, the following chapter is fairly brutal. I know it took an emotional toll on me when I was trying to write it. If you'd rather not witness the upcoming mayhem, then feel free to read a happier chapter, such as 7 or 20. But if you're willing to keep following the story as it progresses, then readers, read on! (And thanks for reading in the first place! Have I mentioned how awesome you all are?)**

* * *

Chapter 25: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

The Game stepped into the room, but Elektra still couldn't tear her eyes away from Batista. The Animal glanced from her to Orton; accusation in his face now. Accusation...and anger.

"So...you thought you could fool me," Triple H snarled, his voice a rumbling rasp. "Always talking about how much you _hated_ Orton...and the whole time, you were fucking him behind my _back_!"

Orton quickly moved forward, placing his body between Elektra and the Game. "Listen, Hunter–" he began. That was as far as he got before Batista came at him with a roar, lifting the Legend Killer off his feet and hurling him against the wall. Orton made contact with a sickening THUD and slid down to the floor in a heap. In an instant, the Animal was kneeling down over him, laying into the former Evolution member with closed fist after closed fist.

Elektra was still in too much shock to scream, or even cry out. Before she could find her voice, Triple H crossed the room, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her back over the makeup counter until she hit the mirror. Her body connected with such force that the glass cracked. Elektra's world went fuzzy and dim for a few seconds. The pain was excruciating. But even as her insides screamed in agony, her mind knew that the worst was yet to come.

The Game shoved his face into hers. "You think you can make a fool out of me? You think you can cheat on _me_ and get away with it?" He grabbed her upper arm, squeezing so hard she thought the bone would snap in two in his grip. "Well, I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll _never _forget, you stupid cunt!"

Almost yanking her arm out of the socket, he dragged her off the counter, towards the door. Elektra stumbled and fell, scraping her knees on the concrete floor. She tried to pull away, looking desperately at Batista. "Dave, please, help me!" she cried. Batista didn't seem to hear her. His features were set in that oh-too-familiar expression of fierce intensity he usually saved for the ring. Elektra tried again, screaming this time. "_Dave_!" Again, no response. The Animal merely continued to slam his huge fists into Orton. The Legend Killer was unconscious. Blood oozed from his mouth.

Triple H knelt beside her, his mouth practically against her ear. "You think Dave's going to hear you?" He chuckled, and it was a cold harsh sound. "Look at him; that guy's in _the zone_." His demeanor turned ugly again. "Besides, what makes you believe he's going to stick his neck out for a lying whore like you?" Pulling Elektra to her feet without mercy, he shoved her out the door.

* * *

Elektra was weeping by now, tears streaming down her face. Her eye makeup stained her cheeks in small black rivers. The Game's grip was like iron, practically cutting off the circulation to her hand. "Hunter, listen to me, _please_!" she pleaded. "Don't do this–"

Triple H stopped, turned her toward him roughly, and hit her across the face with an open-handed slap so hard that it almost knocked her over. "You _shut the fuck up_ or I will shut your fucking mouth for you." He leaned closer, his breath hot on her face. "Next time, I won't ask so nicely."

Elektra clutched her cheek, the entire left side of her face on fire. The Game began walking again, moving so fast that Elektra almost had to run to keep up with him. As they turned a corner, she realized with a sick horror that they were heading in the direction of the entrance to the Titantron. Whatever Triple H had planned, he was going to carry it out in front of not only the entire arena, but the rest of the world as well. Up ahead, she could see the catering table, and two figures helping themselves to coffee.

William Regal and Tajiri turned when they heard the footsteps, their eyes widening in shock when they saw the World Heavyweight Champion carting along a bruised and almost hysteric Elektra. "Bloody hell–" Regal exclaimed.

Elektra lunged toward them, trying yet again to break free. "Help me!" she begged. "Please! He'll kill me–"

Triple H suddenly clapped his free hand over her mouth, stifling her cries. "Don't listen to a word this bitch says," he ordered. "What you're going to see in this ring–it's _Evolution's_ business, not yours. You let the locker room know: if _anyone_ interferes, they'll get the same. Understand?" He glared at the two Superstars for good measure.

For a moment, William Regal looked as though he was going to do something about it, regardless of the Game's warning. But then, he pinched his lips together, and staring down at the floor, turned back toward the table. After a few moments, Tajiri did the same.

Elektra's eyes grew wide in terror, and she began to utter muffled screams, recognizing that for once, she had absolutely no allies.

* * *

The fans burst into a cacophony of confused shouts as Triple H burst onto the ramp with no entrance music, no warning, no nothing. The shouts slowly faded to a low murmur when the arena saw Elektra, literally digging her heels into the ramp, trying to do everything in her power to keep herself from that ring; from her proverbial place of execution. Up at the commentator's table, she could hear J.R.'s outraged shout: "What the hell is all this about?"

The Game finally got her down to the ring, then, picking her bodily up, threw her into the ring unceremoniously. As soon as she hit the canvas, Elektra began crawling frantically, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and Triple H; trying to get back outside where, maybe, she would have a chance to escape. She didn't get very far before the Game was in the ring, too, and yelped as he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her back toward the center like a caveman. He threw her down, sending her face-first into the mat.

For a moment, Elektra thought that her nose had been broken by the impact. She gingerly touched it. Bruised, yes; broken, not yet. She slowly pulled herself up to her hands and knees, then her knees. By then, Triple H was standing over her, a microphone in hand, his eyes shooting daggers of hatred. He lifted the mic up, opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, letting his arm fall back to his side. Without warning, he hit her across the mouth with a vicious backhand slap, sending her right back down onto her face again. Elektra lay there, trying to shake the ringing from her ears. The Game made no move to assist her. Instead, he brought the mic up again, choosing his words carefully. "After all I've done for you...for your _career_..._this_ is how you repay me? Listen to me: you were a _nobody_ when you met me. You'd still _be_ nobody if it wasn't for me." Triple H shook his head. "I just don't get it. I gave you _everything_: fame, fortune, success. I gave you the _Women's Championship_. And yet, you threw it all away so you could screw that jerk-off Randy Orton." The Game glared at her. "You little slut."

Elektra tasted a coppery tang in her mouth. She touched her face gingerly. Her fingertips came away red. Blood trickled down the back of her throat, and she quickly coughed and spat on the canvas before she could vomit. Wiping blood from her nose, she carefully got to her feet. She wobbled back and forth a little, and her head still swam, but at least she was up. Hesitantly, she reached out for the mic, grasped it, pulled it toward her. "Hunter, I know what this looks like, but please, believe me, I never–"

Triple H yanked the mic out of her hands. "First of all...don't you_ dare_ interrupt me again. Second, it's not 'Hunter'. You don't have that right anymore. You call me Triple H like everyone else." The Game began to pace, stroking his chin with his hand. "For months, I've wondering _why_ you're so moody. Now...I know it's because I _took care_ of your little loverboy." He stopped and moved closer, lowering his voice. "And it ate a hole inside of you, until finally, after Taboo Tuesday, you decided to do something about it. _That's_ where you were. You weren't swapping girl stories with Christy and Maria; you were too busy spreading your legs for the Legend Killer!"

"No!" Elektra cried, stretching her hands out imploringly. "I _told_ you, I wasn't _with_ anyone–"

Faster than she could see, Triple H nailed her with another backhand slap from the opposite direction. This one caught her on the eye. Elektra collapsed to her knees again. Her whole face was throbbing with pain now. She was almost certainly going to have a black eye tomorrow. The Game pointed down at her. "If I hear _one more lie_ out of your mouth, I'll _really _give you something to cry about." he growled.

Softly at first, but then louder and louder, the arena was filled with the boos and jeers of thousands of fans. To them, it didn't matter what Elektra had done in the past; no Diva deserved a beating like this. Probably half of the crowd thought that the whole scene was fake; a scripted tableau for television. Elektra wished she could find a better way to show them just how real it was. WWE fans would be shocked to learn just how many heel turns and betrayals, not to mention punches, were the result of real hatred bleeding out into the wrestling world. Elektra had learned, just like everyone else on the roster, to blend fantasy and reality, and accept the fact that even your friends were never really your friends.

Unless you fell in love. With love, the rules were different; the stakes were higher, because there is no variable more unpredictable than the human heart.

Elektra could barely move; her arms hung limply at her sides. Everything was starting to distill down to a chilling numbness. She wasn't even sure she cared about survival anymore. All she could think about at this moment was where Batista was. He'd always promised to protect her, but at the one time where she truly, desperately needed him, he wasn't there. Elektra wondered dully if seeing her with Randy Orton had made Batista decide she wasn't worth it. Maybe he was backstage right now, watching the entire scene on a monitor, his face expressionless. Either way, Elektra saw no point in skirting the truth with Triple H anymore.

Slowly, painfully, she tilted her head up. A new sliver of fear shot through her body when she met the Game's eyes again, but she forced herself to ignore it. "All right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "All right, I'll tell you the truth." She reached out and grabbed onto the microphone again. The Game let her take it this time. Elektra held the piece of equipment awkwardly, not sure if her hands were strong enough to grip the mic. Swallowing hard, she licked her cracked lips and put the mic to her mouth. "The night of Taboo Tuesday, I slept with another man–"

As soon as she spoke the words, Triple H began to pace again, running one hand through his blond hair. His huge body was tight with fury. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and boos. The Game stopped and tried to pull the mic away, but this time, Elektra hung on, getting back to her feet. "–but it _wasn't_ Orton; it was–" The noise from the fans was almost deafening. Elektra could see that Triple H was only a few seconds away from cutting her off again, so with one last effort, she screamed into the microphone just before he yanked it from her hands: "It was Batista!"

The whole arena abruptly fell silent. The Game froze, the mic halfway to his mouth. Elektra groped for it, her hand closing around the microphone. "I slept with Batista," she repeated, quiet enough so only Triple H heard her. The Game's face went slack, and Elektra used the hesitation as an opportunity to regain control of the mic, jerking it out of his hands. She was in pain, she was terrified, but right now, she was also pissed off. Glaring and wiping more blood from her face, she began to speak, weaving her words into perhaps the most dangerous promo of her career. "That's right: while you were getting trashed in a bar, I was back at the hotel getting speared by the Animal. And let me tell you; it's been a _long_ time since I've been with a _real man_." This was probably not a smart move, but Elektra rushed on anyway, not really caring. "I know what you're thinking: it must have been a drunken one-night-stand. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but it's been going on for _months_. It's been going on since the _Royal Rumble_." She moved closer and got right in the Champion's face, speaking more to him than the fans at this point. "How does it feel, _Hunter_, knowing that whenever I was with you, I was thinking of someone else? That no matter how close an eye you kept on me, I still managed to fall in love with someone else right under your nose?" She smiled, even though it hurt. "You always say that it's time to play the game. Well, it looks to me like the _Game got played_."

Triple H's expression twisted with hatred. He stepped back and kicked her squarely in the abdomen. Elektra gasped and doubled back over, dropping the microphone. She couldn't breathe and she felt like she was going to throw up. The Game grabbed her by the front of her shirt, pulling her up roughly to face him. Elektra looked into his eyes, and saw that he was trying to deny this new knowledge. He understood everything now: her unusually close relationship with Batista, the way they looked at each other, their need to be together no matter the situation. Triple H understood...but he didn't want to. He didn't want to believe that the Animal, the one person who never posed a threat, was actually the guilty culprit.

"Tough words coming from someone who's not going to walk out of this ring." he growled. "So _I'm_ not man enough for you?" His eyes narrowed. "Well, I guess it's time for me to show the whole world just how big a whore you really are!" Taking the edge of her tank top in both hands, he tore it right down the front as easily as a sheet of paper, ripping the shirt off and tossing it into the crowd. The Game paused, and grasped her skirt, balling the material up in his fist. In a single brutal movement, as he had done in the heat of passion once before, he tore the garment off and threw that, too, into the audience. Elektra was left standing in only her bra and panties. Unfortunately, unlike a B & P match, the referee was not going to signal for the bell. The humiliation was not going to end here. She hunched over, trying to cover herself with her hands, but Triple H grabbed her by the hair, hauling her back up. "What's the matter?" He was actually _smirking_ at her. Triple H was _enjoying _this. "Don't like being exposed for what you really are?" he taunted.

Elektra spat in his face.

The bloody saliva dripped down the Game's cheek. Triple H wiped it away with his free hand, the familiar anger already transforming his features. Reaching down, he picked up the microphone and raised it over his head, intending to hit her with it...then hesitated, his attention captured by some sight behind her.

Elektra caught the change in the quality of the fans' screams; the tiny signal that a new player was making his way down to the ring. Triple H spun her around, encircling her neck in a choke hold with his arm and pulling her back against him like a shield.

Elektra blinked back the pain and saw with a mixture of joy and relief that Batista was running full speed down the ramp toward the ring. The Animal slid under the bottom ropes and jumped to his feet. His massive body was tense, primed for action. His face had that same harsh intensity he had shown back in the makeup room. Elektra looked up into his eyes, hoping to see her savior–and knew instantly that everything was wrong. Batista's expression was too full of the primal rage that had earned him the moniker of "the Animal". From the blood staining his knuckles, it was clear that he had beaten Orton into submission–but that didn't mean he was finished. He hadn't snapped yet; hadn't crossed the line into full-blown destruction.

Elektra remembered hearing about his match last year at Armageddon, the same night that they met. Enraged at his defeat by Shawn Michaels, Batista had paced the ring like a wild animal, finally attacking a helpless Maven who had done nothing more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like then, Batista was on a hair trigger, and he was just as likely to use that rage against Elektra as he was against Triple H. Unfortunately, the Game knew this. Elektra could almost picture his cruel smile.

Triple H raised the microphone to his mouth again. "Dave, glad you could join us. Elektra here has been telling me a little story about you and her and Taboo Tuesday." That tone crept into his voice, that slight change in pitch that indicated a world-class mind fuck. The Game turned his face toward Elektra's, pressing his lips to her temple. Elektra shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut briefly. Triple H continued. "And in this story, Elektra tells me that _not only_ did the two of you spend the night together, but you did it because you're in _love_." The Game could not mask his distaste of the word "love". Batista's expression didn't change, but he took a step forward.

If Triple H was intimidated, he didn't show it. "Now, personally, I don't believe a word that comes out of her mouth. After all, she had _me_ fooled for _months_."

Batista took another step forward. "Let her go, Hunter," he said quietly.

The Game didn't seem to hear. "And if she had _me_ fooled...how do you know she wasn't fooling you, too?"

For just an instant, Batista hesitated, and in that instant, Triple H latched onto the Animal's one point of weakness. He looped his arm tighter around Elektra's neck. "How did it feel, Dave, seeing her with Orton? I mean, it would really mess _me_ up, seeing the woman I loved making out with her worst enemy."

Elektra understood, with a sickening flash of insight, what the Game was trying to do. "Don't listen to him, Dave!" she cried, attempting to make her voice heard despite the pressure Triple H was putting on her throat. "I can explain–"

The Game cut her off. "I bet I can even guess what she told you. She probably said that she _loves _you–"

"–Shut _up_!" Elektra screamed.

"–that you're the only person she feels comfortable with–"

"–Hunter, stop it! Stop this!"

"–that she was going to _leave _me for you," Triple H finished. He chuckled, as though the idea amused him. "Leave me for you," he said again, still laughing. Elektra stared at Batista. The Animal's face was starting to turn red with anger. He was reaching the breaking point, thanks to the combination of the Game's taunts and his own doubts and fears.

Elektra tried once again to reach him, to quell the savage beast raging inside him. "Dave, listen to me, please! I love you, I always have–"

"There she goes again," Triple H interrupted, shaking his head in a bemused way. "Still trying to manipulate you and me." He looked back at Batista. "She played us both, Dave. She turned us against each other just so she could run off with Orton." His mouth curled into a cold smile. "She never loved you."

"Shut up, Hunter," Batista retorted, his huge frame starting to shake.

The Game tightened the choke hold, forcing Elektra's head up. She was starting to have trouble breathing, and felt light-headed. "Elektra here...she's just like me. She doesn't love _anybody_."

"I said _shut up_!" Batista roared, advancing toward the pair. In a flash, Triple H released the choke hold and pushed Elektra right into the path of the Animal, retreating back into a corner. Elektra crashed into Batista, her face colliding with his massive chest. She knew as soon as she did that it was over; that the Animal had been unleashed. Grabbing Elektra, he shoved her head down between his thighs, linking his arms around her waist. Elektra felt his legs pressing against her ears, cutting off the cries of the fans. With almost no effort, Batista lifted her up. Elektra felt the sensation of flipping head over heels. When she opened her eyes, she realized that she was suddenly much higher than she should be. Her legs were straddling Batista's head, his hands were on her waist. With horror, Elektra knew what was about to happen. "No, Dave!" she screamed. "Dave, please, don't do it! I love you--"

It was too late; she was already falling backward fast, far too fast, as Batista brought her toward the mat with a huge Batista Bomb. Elektra shrieked in terror. Then, canvas connected with her skull and spine, and the world went completely, mercifully black.

Batista leapt back to his feet, roaring with anger and pain. The fans booed, waving their fists and middle fingers in the air. But all the Animal saw was red, blood red. He paced across the ring, yelling wordlessly, shaking the ropes in his rage. Triple H saw his opportunity and slipped out of the corner, striding over to the fallen Elektra. Reaching down and grabbing hold of her unconscious form, he pulled her up, setting her up for the Pedigree. It took some doing; Elektra's body had gone limp. But the Game managed somehow and, wrenching her arms behind her back, drove her face-first into the mat. Thankfully, Elektra was already out cold.

The guitar wail of Evolution's entrance music rang out, piercing through the haze of rage that surrounded Batista. He slowly shook his head, wondering what had just happened. What he had done...it hadn't really occurred...had it? After all, he wouldn't really harm Elektra...would he? Turning around, his heart wrenched painfully in his chest when he saw the broken form of the woman he loved. Her delicate body had practically been torn apart by the two brutal finishing moves. Batista hesitantly stepped toward her, closer and closer, trying to tell himself to wake up, that this was only a dream, only a dream...But it was no dream. Elektra had been destroyed, and he had helped destroy her.

The Animal slowly sank to his knees, practically crawling toward her unconscious body. "Elektra?" he whispered. "Baby?" She wasn't moving. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing. "Elektra? _Elektra!_" Batista shouted, trying to rouse her somehow, but there was no response. He reached her, and gently rolled her onto her back, pushing her hair back from her face. "Baby? Please answer me." He touched her cheek, her lips, sliding his hand back to her hair as he gently cradled her head. "Please wake up," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please wake up..."

Others were crowding against him, trying to pull him back from Elektra. He looked up to see the trainer, EMTs and the Women's Champion, Trish, all staring down at the unconscious Diva with concern. Batista slowly moved back, getting to his feet and letting them do their job. As he did, his eyes locked with Trish's, and the look she shot him was so full of venom that he had to look away. "Trish, I–"

"Haven't you done enough?" Trish interrupted bitterly, turning away from him.

Batista backed up, never taking his eyes off Elektra, the emotion in him so overwhelming that he was afraid to even speak. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see the World Heavyweight Champion, who smiled at the Animal as if this were all in a day's work. "Come on, Dave, let's head back. We're done here."

Batista felt the anger rising in him again. "Leave? I'm not _leaving_, Hunter."

The Game glanced over at Elektra. "Dave, you just power-bombed a helpless 117-pound Diva. What's she gonna do when she wakes up, _forgive you_?" Triple H smiled. "You're better off without her, anyway. We're _all _better off without her."

Batista suddenly grabbed the Game by his jacket lapels, forcing him back against the ropes. "_Why_?" he demanded. His voice was hoarse with emotion and pain.

"Why?" Despite his precarious position, the Game still managed to glare at him. "Because if there's one thing you need to understand about the business, about Evolution, it's _this_:" He paused for a moment. "We may stand together, but we walk _alone_."

For a moment, it seemed like the Animal was going to shove the World Heavyweight Champion right out of the ring. But then, he pulled back, releasing Triple H. Slipping out under the ropes, the Animal walked back up the ramp, the Game's words echoing in his tortured mind.

_We may stand together, but we walk alone..._


	26. Chapter 26: Finishing The Job

Chapter 26: Finishing the Job

Elektra drifted in and out of consciousness, the world reappearing in flashes of light and sound. There was a low white ceiling above her, its smooth surface broken up by the forms of people bending over her. Elektra licked her lips, trying to speak. "Dave...where's Dave?" Her voice emerged as a barely audible whisper.

One of the strange figures finally registered in her memory banks. Trish's pretty face was marred by sober concern. "Shh...don't try to talk," the Women's Champion answered soothingly. "It's okay; they're taking you to the hospital right now. You're going to be fine."

"But where's Dave?" Elektra interjected, trying to sit up. The action was quickly thwarted by several sets of hands. "Where is he, Trish?"

Trish looked away, biting her lip. "You're going to be fine," she repeated.

Elektra lapsed back into unconsciousness before she could ask any more questions.

* * *

The next thing she knew, bright light was pressing against her eyelids. Elektra slowly opened them, shutting them again almost instantly. After so much time in darkness, the pale radiance of indoor light was blinding. Peeking cautiously through her eyelashes, she allowed her eyes to adjust and opened them all the way again, taking in her surroundings.

She was in an unfamiliar room, the walls a sterile beige, the floor a scuffed linoleum. Blue hospital drapes separated her from the rest of the room, which, judging by the murmur of voices and the steady beep of machinery, was not unoccupied. Elektra was resting on a hospital bed, the headrest elevated for her. An IV line snaked from her arm to a small bag suspended above the bed. Whoever had placed her here had also taken the time to dress her in a white hospital gown.

Elektra shifted slightly, and winced as pain shot through her body. Everything ached; even her hair hurt. The focal points of her agony seemed to be her head, neck and back. Not surprising, since she had survived a full-scale Batista Bomb.

Just the memory of the attack made tears spring to Elektra's eyes, but she tried to hold them back; as therapeutic as it may be, it would also hurt like hell. How could Batista do that to her? After all his promises, after all his assurances, he'd not only failed to protect her from Triple H...he'd failed to protect her from himself. Even in his deepest rage, he should have known, should have felt _something_ that signaled he was about to make a terrible mistake. But instead, he had thrown her down onto the canvas, as though she were nothing more than another one of Evolution's "enemies".

But as much Elektra blamed Batista for what he had done, she blamed herself even more. She shouldn't have kissed Orton, first of all, but she also should have been able to reach Batista, to calm the Animal somehow. However, it seemed that not even love could soothe the savage beast when he was enraged. Because of his doubt, because of her own stupidity, the one thing that had kept her buoyant during her times of despair was gone. Fractured the moment her lips touched Orton's; broken the second her body met canvas.

Elektra tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She gingerly turned her head to the side, ignoring the bolts of pain shooting down her neck, hoping to see a pitcher of water nearby.

It was then that she noticed the figure sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Randy Orton had donned a pair of sweatpants and one of his black "RKO" shirts. His face was sporting a large welt over one eye, a gash on his left cheek, and a split lip. From the way he was perched on the chair, he obviously had some abdominal injuries as well. Elektra didn't know what to think when she saw him. The beating he had suffered had been indirectly because of her, so why would he come to sit at her bedside? Orton must have sensed her staring, because he glanced up.

"Hey," he said softly. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Elektra groaned. "Ummm...don't remind me." She tried to sit up, and quickly thought better of it. "Ow."

Orton chuckled, but it was gentle, friendly. "I'm not surprised, after that beating you took." He stood up, a little stiffly, and walked the few steps to the edge of her bed. "In case you're wondering...we're at the local hospital in Austin. They checked you out, did some x-rays, the whole nine yards. Don't worry, there's nothing serious; some bruised ribs, bruised vertebrae, not to mention one hell of a concussion." He eyed her critically. "And I wouldn't look in a mirror for a while if I were you."

Elektra closed her eyes briefly. "In other words...this may sting in the morning." She opened them again. "But it's nothing a few bags of ice won't cure."

Orton laughed again, then his face grew sober. "This is all my fault. I should have done something more than lie there and be a punching bag."

"What could you have done?" Elektra replied. _...That wouldn't have made things worse?_ her mind added.

Orton looked into her eyes. "I could have protected you."

Elektra looked away, studying the folds of the drapes. "That's not your job." she murmured. She glanced back at the Legend Killer, changing the subject. "Has anyone else stopped by."

Orton pondered this for a moment. "Let's see...Trish was here for a while; she dropped off some clothes for you when you check out...the trainer was by...really no one else."

"And Dave?" Elektra couldn't keep the hope out of her voice.

Orton slowly shook his head. "To be honest...I haven't seen him since I left the arena."

Elektra's features sagged, and she turned her head away as tears began to roll down her face. "Randy?" she whispered.

Orton looked at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"I need to be alone for a while," Elektra answered tearfully. "Please...just go away..."

Orton reached out to touch her, but stopped himself and instead walked out of the small curtained alcove. As soon as she sensed he was gone, Elektra dissolved into quiet sobs, the salt of her tears stinging not so much as the pain of her broken heart.

* * *

Batista paced back and forth in the parking lot. As soon as he'd managed to pull himself together, he'd thrown some clothes on and sped out to the hospital–only to be stonewalled at the front desk. From the way the nurse was effectively evading his queries, it seemed that someone was trying to make sure he couldn't get in to see Elektra. Or maybe it was just his fevered mind preventing him from asking the right questions. Either way, one thing led to another, and it had resulted in two security personnel 'asking' him to leave. Even though the Animal could have taken on both guards with minimal effort, he'd gritted his teeth instead and left quietly, making sure to stay within range of the double doors. Besides, hadn't he already caused enough mayhem tonight?

Batista's mind was reeling, too pumped full of adrenaline and anguish to allow him to calm down and think clearly. All he knew was that he had to make this right. He had to fix this... or he would lose Elektra forever.

He still couldn't get the memory of Elektra kissing Orton out of his mind. What he had seen when he stepped into the room...it was like a bad dream he couldn't wake up from. The scene had been so different from what he had encountered in the Evolution locker room at Vengeance. Elektra's body molded against Orton's, her hand on his cheek, the way she was kissing him...there was no way anyone could have believed that Orton had tried to assault her less than six months ago. Even though logic was trying to tell him that none of it made sense, that Elektra couldn't _possibly_ have been with Orton because she had been with him every night... Batista couldn't deny what he had seen. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn't stop Triple H's words from festering in his brain. _She played us both, Dave..._

Right now, however, he didn't care about what the Game had said or why Elektra had kissed Orton. All that mattered was whether she was all right. If he had known that it would play out like this, that he was capable of such brutality, he would have gotten Elektra out of there right away, and allowed himself to take the brunt of the punishment. Any form of physical abuse would have hurt less than the enormous ball of guilt and heartache that was threatening to burst within him.

He heard the hiss of hydraulics as the automatic doors slid open. Batista turned around to see Elektra walking out with Orton. She had on a pair of pajama pants and a zip-up sweatshirt. Even at this distance, her injuries were apparent: she was walking stiffly and leaning against Orton for support. The light from the overhead lamppost illuminated her black eye. She stopped, wincing in pain, and Orton gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Batista's mind was already in overdrive and just seeing them together like this was enough to send him back over the edge. He strode toward the pair angrily. "Hey!" he yelled out. "Get away from her!"

Orton stepped forward, carefully ushering Elektra behind him. "Listen, Dave," he began. "We don't want any trouble–"

Batista grabbed his jacket collar, practically lifting him off the ground. "This is all _your_ fault!" he growled. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't finish the job right now!"

"Dave, stop!" Batista turned in surprise to see Elektra tugging on his arm, trying to pull him away from Orton. "Let him go!" Her voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of steel running through it.

Reluctantly, the Animal released Orton, and turned his attention to Elektra. For a moment, neither of them said a word; then, all of a sudden, Elektra pulled back and slapped him across the face.

Batista was too stunned to even dodge the attack. He stared into her grey eyes, at the anger blazing in their pale depths.

Before he could speak, Elektra started talking. "How dare you!" she spat, her voice husky with emotion. "How dare you show up _here_ and start causing trouble again!"

"What's _he_ doing here?" Batista retorted, jamming his thumb in the direction of the Legend Killer.

Elektra glanced over at Orton, but her gaze quickly flicked back over to Batista. "_He_ was there when I woke up...which is more than I can say for _you_." She was almost livid with anger. The Animal had never seen her this angry.

"Elektra, please, just listen–" Batista began, but it was no use.

"No!" Elektra interrupted. "I'm _done_ listening to you!" She took a step back. "You're a liar, Dave. Ever since the beginning, the one thing you always told me was that you'd protect me, _no matter what_. But tonight, when you had the opportunity...you couldn't do it. You_ let_ Hunter take me out to that ring. You _let _him beat the _shit_ out of me. And when it finally looked like you were going to step in, you–" She broke off, rather than voice the painful recollection.

Batista lowered his voice, trying not to lose his temper. "I walked in that room and saw you kissing another man. You want to tell me how I should have reacted?"

"I don't know!" Elektra retorted. "Maybe use some common-fucking-sense for once! I've been with you every night, Dave. There is _nothing_ going on between me and Orton!"

"Then why were you kissing him?" Batista shouted.

"I told you, _I don't know_!" Elektra screamed back. "But let me tell you: what I did doesn't justify what happened to me in that ring!" She shook her head, and her voice grew softer. "You should have known. Something should have gone off in your head–I don't know, a voice, a bell– _something_ should have told you that when you hoisted me up, it was a bad fucking idea!" She backed away even more. "Lita...the others...they were right about you: you _are_ an animal." Elektra stopped, trying to catch her breath. She was close to tears. "Goodbye, Dave." Turning around, she began walking away rapidly.

Batista stopped her, grabbing her arm. "Elektra, wait–" He heard her gasp in pain and immediately let go.

Elektra spun back around. "Don't touch me!" she hissed. "Just stay away from me, Dave! Do us both a favor and forget about me."

Batista felt his heart stop. "No..." he murmured. This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. "Please, baby, don't do this–"

"_You_ made me do this!" Elektra replied. "The second you put your hands on me, you should have known this was how it would end." The light from the streetlamps illuminated her eyes, making them glow slightly. "I'm not making the same mistake I did with Hunter; I'm not giving you a second chance to hurt me again." She stared hard at Batista. "You should know better than anyone...I can't love someone if I'm wondering when they're going to lose it." With that, she turned around again and stormed away, turning out of sight beyond a parked SUV.

Batista could only stand, frozen in place, as the woman he loved walked out of his life forever. He pressed his fists to his eyes, the emotion beginning to well up out of him. Elektra had been the one person who could keep the inner Animal at bay. But tonight, because of Triple H, because of his own stupid petty jealousies, not even she had been able to calm him...and instead of becoming his girlfriend, she had become his victim.

Batista wished desperately that he could have the chance to tell her everything; how being with her made him feel like more than just Evolution's cleanup man. With Elektra, he wasn't a beast, he wasn't the Animal, he was just..._hers_. Now that she was gone, there was nothing left but a square wrestling ring and a never-ending stream of Superstars Triple H had decided to hate. There was no more reason left to feel. Batista didn't think that he had a heart anymore. If he did, then what was this cold hollow spot inside his chest? A tear worked its way out from behind his closed eye, sliding down his cheek and dripping off his chin.

"Aww..." Orton's sarcastic drawl brought the Animal back to reality. Batista brought his head back up; turned to see the Legend Killer smirking at him. "What's the matter, Dave? You gonna _cry_?"

Batista ground his teeth together furiously. "You arrogant little shit..._you're _the one she should be running away from."

Orton shook his head. "Not _me_. See...I wasn't the one power-bombing Divas in front of all of Austin, Texas. And I wasn't the one noticeably absent from Elektra's bedside." He smiled again, and there was something reptilian about it this time. "Funny how you weren't there. It was almost like you couldn't find her or something."

Batista stomped toward Orton, his vision beginning to blur red again. "Son of a bitch–" he roared. Just as he was about to clamp his outstretched hands around the Legend Killer's throat, he was halted by an attack that seemed to come from all sides. Fists slammed into his head, boots caught him in the knees and quads. Batista dropped to his knees, trying to ward off the assault with his arms. But the mysterious assailants proved too much for even the Animal to overcome, and he collapsed on the ground, rolling over onto his back, trying to shake the dizziness from his head. Looking up, he saw the expressionless faces of Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit and Maven.

Orton's taunting voice invaded his ear again. "What? You actually thought I would be dumb enough to come here without any backup? Get him up!" This last part was directed at the other three Superstars. Pausing long enough to get in a few well-placed shots to the ribs, the Rabid Wolverine and the Tough Enough winner hauled Batista up, restraining his arms. Orton stepped in front of the Animal, measuring him up. "I've been waiting a long time for this," he finally said, and struck Batista with a vicious uppercut.

The Animal's head snapped back with the impact. Orton paced back and forth, reining in his emotions. "What you and Evolution did to me...that's _nothing _compared with what we're going to do to you. You be lucky if you can even crawl to the ring come Survivor Series." Orton paused, and leaned in close, right next to Batista's ear. "But before we do...there's a little secret I'd like to share, a little insult to injury, if you will." His voice dropped to a whisper. "What happened tonight...none of it would have gone down if it hadn't been for me."

Batista's stomach lurched with dread. This wasn't an apology; Orton didn't stoop to apologies, especially if they were directed at any of his former Evolution cohorts. No, what he was saying implied something far more insidious...

Orton chuckled. "Think about it, Dave...you _and_ the Game walking into the room at the _exact same time_ I'm giving your girl the business? That wasn't coincidence; that was genius. A few innuendos to send the two of you running, a little bit of coaxing to get Elektra to let her guard down... it was almost too easy. None of you saw it coming." His smile disappeared, and he straightened up. Seeing that Batista had allowed his gaze to drift to the ground, Orton grabbed his chin, forcing the Animal to look at him. "You really think I was going to just walk away and let you take her? Elektra belongs with _me_, not some freak of nature." The reptilian smirk reemerged. "I really didn't expect you to take it so far. I assumed you'd be so busy trying to deal with me that you'd forget all about her until it was too late. But Batista-bombing her in the middle of the ring..." The Legend Killer clapped his hands in a one-man show of applause. "You deserve a standing ovation." He leaned in close again. "Thanks to you, I won't have to go through all of that bullshit of getting her to trust me again. After what you did to her, it won't be long before she's asking to sleep over because you have her so freaked out. But she won't be sleeping...if you know what I mean."

Batista struggled in vain, the inner Animal bashing its head against the bars of its cage. "You twisted _fuck_! You stay away from her, or–"

"Or what, Dave?" Orton interrupted, his face a portrait of perverse delight. "You'll tell her the _truth_? Don't you get it? After tonight, she's not going to go anywhere near you...and don't forget, I've got some new friends now to watch my back." Stepping back, he kicked Batista in the abdomen, forcing the Animal to double over. "I'm sick of listening to this asshole. Let's finish it."

* * *

Elektra leaned against the side of a dark pickup truck, trying to will the lingering pain from her limbs, but also, trying to force the memory of Batista from her heart. She had meant everything she had said back there, but that didn't mean she relished the thought of walking away from the only man she had ever really loved. Tears kept trickling down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. Their sting reminded her that she was still alive...since her heart had gone numb.

The wind changed, and some faint sounds caught her ears. Normally, Elektra would have ignored them, but at this point, she was anxious to find anything to distract her from her own thoughts. She listened harder. The noises seemed to consist of dull thuds. They were teasingly familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on where she had heard them before. Then she heard a grunt of pain, and the puzzle pieces snapped into place. She should have recognized that particular combination of sounds right away; she had witnessed enough of Evolution's 'business' to know a beat-down when she heard it.

Hesitantly, she walked back toward the entrance to the hospital, taking care to stay in the shadows, behind the protective forms of cars. She reached an SUV, and slowly peeked out around its rear, clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp of horror.

Orton and his new friends–Jericho, Benoit and Maven–were taking turns assaulting a nearly unconscious Batista. At this moment, Jericho was just finishing up. He stopped, slapped Orton's hand and allowed the Legend Killer to step in. Orton stared the Animal down, then hit him with a straight right punch, knocking Batista back down. Orton pulled his hand back. His knuckles gleamed pinkish-red in the light.

Elektra slowly backed away, retreating into the shadows again. Part of her wanted to stop this, but another part was telling her that Batista deserved this. After all, what had he done to help when Triple H had her helpless in the ring? He should experience what it feels like to have the odds against him. But Elektra couldn't will away her emotional connection with Batista, and as the punches continued, it almost seemed as though they were making contact with her own body.

Batista let out another groan of agony, and the sound of it shot through Elektra's heart like a knife. Yet, she kept retreating, too hurt and too afraid to face a possible second beating. As she fled from the carnage, Elektra wondered if, by siding with Orton, she had just placed herself in an even more dangerous relationship than her one with Triple H.


	27. Chapter 27: Wounding Each Other

Chapter 27: Wounding Each Other

When the car pulled into the parking garage of the Gund Arena, none of the other Superstars took notice. But when the passenger door opened and Elektra stepped out, everyone (Raw and SmackDown alike) stopped what they were doing; paused in the middle of conversations to stare at her.

After six days, the black eye had faded to a pale yellowish-green and her internal injuries were evidenced only by a slight stiffness to her walk. But if anyone there had any lingering doubts about her suffering, they only had to look in her eyes. Elektra's trademark silvery irises were so dull and lifeless that they might as well have been pieces of glass. Dull, lifeless...and filled with a terrible knowledge.

Every rookie Superstar or Diva arrives at a crossroads during their first year, usually the result of some act of physical or emotional cruelty, where they have to decide whether to forge ahead or to give up altogether. Last Monday had been Elektra's crossroads, and from the vacancy of her gaze; from the way she didn't seem to be all there mentally, it was clear that she would have to come to some resolution or risk losing her sanity completely.

Even though she had not taken any time off for her injuries and had actually been ringside at some house shows, her presence here at Survivor Series came as a surprise to Superstars from both brands. The assault on her by Triple H had been one of the most horrific against any Diva in recent memory and despite Elektra's Jekyll-and-Hyde personality in and out of the ring, everyone believed it had been absolutely uncalled for. But most importantly...everyone, whether they wore red or blue, whether they answered to Eric Bischoff or Theodore Long, knew that it could have been stopped.

Whether Elektra merited punishment or not, the fact still remained that an entire locker room had stood by and watched her suffer unspeakable physical and psychological abuse. SmackDown Superstars used the incident as a chance to moralize, claiming that if something like that had started to go down on _their _show, they would have done something about it. Raw Superstars tried to rationalize, protesting that it was one thing to start a rebellion, but another thing entirely to interfere in Evolution's affairs. But even as they spoke these words, they knew in their hearts that they could have done something to stop it...and did nothing instead.

Chris Jericho got out of the driver's side, walked around to the trunk and lifted out his suitcase. Without saying a word, he lifted out Elektra's as well. The former Undisputed Champion had found it odd when the grey-eyed Diva asked bluntly if she could travel with him. It wasn't until they were actually on the road that he discovered why: she had figured Jericho would be the least likely person to want to strike up a conversation with her. For the last several days, the only words she had uttered were an occasional "Yes" or "No" as she stared out the window at the passing scenery. Her voice sounded as defeated as her eyes looked.

Gone was the fiery Diva in Evolution's corner; all that remained was a shadow of the real thing, a hollow shell that walked and talked.

Elektra took her suitcase from Y2J, muttering a toneless "Thank you..." As she tugged the handle out to its full length, she glanced up and saw for the first time that every Superstar in the vicinity was staring at her. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze sweeping over the crowd of Raw and SmackDown talent. Then, as they watched, something inside her snapped and a bright spark of anger kindled in her eyes.

"What?" she demanded loudly, still studying the faces before her. "What're you looking at? Huh? Do I amuse you? Is that it? Or did you just want to get a look at the Diva who survived a Batista Bomb _and_ a Pedigree? That's all I am to you, isn't it? Just a fucking _freak_!"

"Hey, calm down–" Jericho interjected quietly, taking hold of her arm. He hoped that he could get her to the locker room before she really made a scene. But it was too late; Elektra pulled herself free and stepped forward, her voice growing warm with ire as emotion lit up her face.

"I know why _some_ of you are here," she continued. Her eyes sought out and located Raw Superstars, who began to shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze. "You think that I _deserved_ what I got; that karma finally decided to punish me for being such a bitch. I mean...that's why you stayed in the back...isn't it? That's why you let him hit me over and over again until I was spitting blood." She took another step forward, and the crowd unconsciously backed up. "Let me tell you –I caused trouble for a lot of you out there, but I _always_ did it to your face. What _you_ did to me ..._that_ was low, because you had the chance to do the right thing, but you did _nothing_. You _stabbed me in the back_. And for what? To get back at me? To prove that you're all better than I am?" She pointed at the crowd, indicating no one, but at the same time, implicating everyone. Her voice began to rise in volume. "You're all worse than me...and you know it, you self-righteous _bastards_! You can lie to yourselves all you want, but deep down, you know that you're nothing but hypocritical chickenshits–"

"Elektra!" Randy Orton appeared out of nowhere, pushing his way through the crowd. Some Superstars stepped aside to let him pass; others were too entranced by Elektra's words to notice.

Elektra didn't seem to hear. "–You're a bunch of _fucking cowards_–"

"Elektra, stop!" Orton finally reached her, grabbing her face in both hands and forcing her to look at him. Elektra fell silent as she stared into the Legend Killer's eyes. Orton gently pushed her hair back from her face, murmuring to her. "Calm down, it's all right. They know, okay? They know." Elektra's body sagged and the anger slowly drained from her face. Orton stepped back, taking her suitcase in one hand and wrapping the other arm around her shoulders. "Come on; I'll take you to the locker room."

Elektra nodded absently and let him lead her to the hallway. The crowd of Superstars was still silent, trying to process the guilt trip they had just been subjected to. But just as Elektra was about to disappear from sight, she turned back, spitting out one last biting comment. "I did what I had to to survive...what's _your_ excuse?" Then Orton tugged her around a corner and she was gone. A couple seconds of awkward silence passed before both rosters remembered what they had originally been doing and began milling about again.

Jericho stood next to the car for several minutes, trying to collect his own thoughts. As much as he'd like to believe that Elektra had finally lost it, he couldn't deny the fact that everything she had just said was the truth. And it wasn't like he had suddenly arrived at this revelation; he had known this in his gut since last week. Since the night he and the other members of Orton's team had exacted "revenge" on Elektra and Batista.

When it was over, when Elektra was lying unconscious in the ring, Jericho had expected to feel vindicated, but instead, he just felt doubt. Doubt...and some small measure of guilt. Despite what Elektra had done to him months ago, there was no way it was worth the beating she had received. But yet, Jericho had followed through with Orton's plan; had sat in the locker room and watched the whole incident play out, wondering why he kept feeling the need to stand up and protect her. Now he knew why. This mind-game shit...it wasn't his style. Psychological warfare was Evolution's game; it was _Randy Orton's_ game...but it wasn't the way that Chris Jericho liked to play.

Jericho knew that he wasn't alone in this belief. He still couldn't gauge Maven's feelings, but he could definitely tell that Chris Benoit was as unhappy as he was about the whole thing. The Rabid Wolverine wrestled by a code of honor, and regardless of his own personal dislike of Elektra, there was no honor in throwing a helpless young woman to the wolves.

And then there had been the incident at the hospital. Jericho should have known that something was up; he'd had a bad feeling about it since Orton had told him and his teammates to lie in wait. First of all, why were they going after Dave Batista, when Triple H was obviously the one to blame? Second, if Orton claimed to hate Elektra, why was he going to such extraordinary lengths to gain her trust? Shouldn't the massacre in the middle of the ring have satisfied his lust for revenge?

But then he'd heard Randy's little speech, and realized that he and the others had been played, just as surely as they'd played Elektra, Batista and Triple H. Orton had lied to him, lied to all of them. He'd never wanted retribution; his main objective had been Elektra all along. And now he was manipulating her, breaking her down until she had no other choice but to trust him. That kind of sick obsession disgusted Jericho. The freak was probably still carrying her underwear around in his pocket.

A recollection flashed back into Jericho's mind; of standing over Batista, preparing to throw a punch. The Animal glared defiantly back at him, a wild beast cornered and wounded, but not yet brought down. But his eyes...his eyes had the look of a man who has absolutely nothing left to lose. In that moment, Jericho had hesitated, because he understood the Animal, unlikely as it might seem. He understood the other man because he had felt the same way after he lost Trish. Batista was in love with Elektra. Jericho couldn't believe he hadn't seen it until now.

If he hadn't had so much invested in tonight's match, his alliance with the Legend Killer would have ended right then and there. But despite his twinges of conscience, Jericho was also ambitious; he craved the coveted General Manager position, and if that meant he had fake comradery with a psychopath, he was willing to do so. He just didn't have to like it.

Jericho experienced another brief flash of memory, this one of Trish, of the happiness they'd shared before he'd managed to completely fuck it up. No one else should have to experience that kind of heartache, not if he could help it. Glancing down the now empty hallway, Jericho secretly vowed that, no matter who the winner was at the end of Survivor Series, he would find a way to make this right.

* * *

Elektra sat atop one of the equipment crates, her legs folded Indian-style, watching the main event on a backstage monitor. The Raw 8-man elimination match was in full swing, with the ultimate prize–the chance to run Raw for a month–hanging in the balance. Right now, the eight participants had been reduced to three; two on Triple H's side and Randy Orton the only remaining member of his team. Elektra knew that she should be paying attention and waiting for her cue. _Remember, babe, when it's down to one and one, that's when you come out. And if you're lucky...it'll be down to me and Hunter..._ Well, from the looks of the double-team effort that Edge and Triple H were putting on Orton, there was a strong possibility that the odds never would swing back in the Legend Killer's favor. Besides, she had really stopped paying attention once Batista had been eliminated.

Elektra punched herself lightly in the forehead with her fist, trying unsuccessfully for the umpteenth time to force the Animal out of her head. It was her own damn fault; she had spent so much time building her world around Batista, she should have known it would be impossible to get him out of it. But she couldn't help it. How could she have known that in just six short days, her entire world would be turned upside down, and not for the better?

Her alliance with Orton was an uneasy one, at best. There was still too much mistrust to allow for a comfortable working relationship, and from the way the Legend Killer was hinting...he was hoping to escalate it to a physical one as well. Elektra had been able to fend him off so far, claiming that it was too soon to even consider another romance. But she knew already that she would never be ready, and for one simple reason: she didn't love Orton. Even if the animosity between them had never existed, it wouldn't change the fact that she felt nothing for the Legend Killer. After what she had known with Dave Batista, the thought of settling for Randy Orton was like switching from expensive caviar to generic mayonnaise.

The sound of voices pulled her from her self-loathing. Elektra felt an involuntary tingle flit through her body at the sound of Batista's deep quiet murmur. Sliding silently off the crate, she crept to the corner of the corridor and peered around, making sure to stay as much out of sight as possible.

Batista was indeed there, leaning casually against the wall as he conversed with Christy Hemme. As Elektra watched, the red-haired Diva reached out and touched Batista's arm lightly, chatting away in an animated voice. A small smile appeared on the face of the Animal.

Even though she was no longer with Batista, even though she knew he had the right to talk with any Diva he chose, Elektra couldn't stop a haze of jealousy from surrounding her, tinging the edges of her vision with red. She quickly crossed to the other side of the corridor, heading in the direction of the black curtain. Served her right for spying. No more distractions; she was going to wait by the entrance for her elusive "cue" to arrive.

* * *

Batista looked up, distracted by the blur of movement in his peripherals. For a moment, he thought he had seen...no, he was just imagining things again. Ever since last week, he'd barely been able to function because all he could see in his mind's eye was Elektra. Maybe it was just a side effect from the pummeling he'd received...or maybe it was Nature's way of telling him not to let this one go. Well, Nature obviously had never met Elektra.

Christy peered at him quizzically. "Are you all right? Did you hear what I said?"

Batista shook his head, trying to regain his train of thought. "I'm sorry...what?"

The Diva Search winner stepped a little bit closer, lowering her voice. "I was just wondering if...after the pay-per-view...you and I–" She broke off as she looked up into the Animal's face. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"It's nothing personal." Batista answered quietly. "It's just–"

"–You don't think about me in that way," Christy finished for him. "In fact, you probably never will...because I'm not her." The last statement was uttered matter-a-factly, without bitterness. The red-haired Diva stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest, studying the Animal. "A while back...I asked her...if you were worth it."

Batista looked over at her. "And what did she say?" he asked. It was interesting how they were deftly avoiding saying Elektra's name.

Christy stared hard back at him. "That you were." She unfolded her arms and turned to leave. "Now make me believe it." Putting one foot in front of the other, she walked down the hall and disappeared into the women's locker room.

Batista sighed, slumping against the wall and closing his eyes. _Easier said than done..._ he thought to himself.

* * *

"_Edge_ has _been_ eliminated!" The announcer's voice rang out. The crowd, solidly behind Orton in this match-up, cheered as the odds were evened out to one and one. And just as Orton had hoped, it was down to him and Triple H. Elektra counted slowly to five, then pushed the curtain aside and ran down the broad main aisle toward the ring. The crowd cheered when they saw her, some of them breaking into an impromptu "Eh-Lek-Tra!" chant. Orton had been waiting for the Game to rise to his feet, in order to hit him with the RKO, but with the referee distracted by the flurry of movement on the aisle, Triple H used the opportunity to hit the Legend Killer with a low blow; a _vile_ low blow, as J.R. would call it. Orton's mouth formed an "O" as he collapsed to the mat, clutching himself. The referee turned back around, and knew immediately that something illegal had gone down, but since he couldn't call what he couldn't see, there was nothing he could do about it. The Game got to his feet, smirking, as he pulled Orton up in preparation for the Pedigree. In a few seconds, it would all be over.

Elektra reached the ring, and despite the remaining pain shooting down her back, climbed up onto the apron. Holding onto the ropes, she leaned over, screaming at Triple H. "Hey!" she yelled. "Hey, _Hunter_! Why don't you turn around and act like a man for once, you gutless son of a bitch!"

Earl Hebner ran over, telling her to get off the apron before he threw her out. But Elektra ignored the referee, continuing to yell over his shoulder at the Game. "What's the matter, Hunter?" she taunted. "Afraid to face a _woman_?"

That did it. Triple H released Orton, turned around and stomped over to her, pushing Hebner aside and grabbing her by the hair. He shoved his face into hers, his expression livid. "I thought I took care of your ass last week," he growled. "Obviously, you didn't get the message." He leaned in even closer. "When I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if you're still breathing."

Elektra felt her feet starting to slip, and was reminded of her very first match, when she had stood at ringside for Flair and Batista against the Dudleys. She could still picture Bubba Ray's face glaring at hers. Just like then, Elektra was filled with a numbing fear. Six days of relative peace could not take away her apprehension of the Game. But unlike then, Elektra knew that she didn't have to take it this time. She didn't have to wait for someone to save her.

She stared calmly back at Triple H. Her serenity seemed to puzzle the Game. "Oh, Hunter," she replied, low enough for only him to hear. "Why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Taking hold of his face in both hands, she jumped from the apron down to the floor, guillotining the World Heavyweight Champion on the top rope. Pain blossomed on one side of her head, where some strands of hair had been pulled out by the roots. But the Game was in worse shape, struggling for breath as he staggered backwards...right into an RKO.

When Orton hit his finishing move, the arena erupted into thunderous cheering; everyone was on their feet. The Legend Killer dropped to the floor, hooking the Game's leg in a pin. Hebner's hand hit the mat. 1...2...3. It was over, and Orton's team was victorious. The Legend Killer got to his feet, almost overcome with emotion as the referee raised his hand in victory.

But of all the people celebrating in the arena, the one person who remained sober was Elektra. She stared, her face expressionless, at Triple H, knowing that she was supposed to feel some kind of jubilation. But all she felt was bitter resentment. All she had done was give the Game a few moments of discomfort. How could that make up for what he had done to her? She may have taken away his pride, but he had taken away the man she loved. One RKO was not going to change that.

Elektra looked up at Orton, and saw that he was staring at her, his hand outstretched. Elektra carefully slid under the ropes and got to her feet, accepting it. Orton raised their clasped hands briefly, then put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

Elektra found herself thinking of the hallway, of Batista and Christy standing close together, of how it had made her feel. _It's all about the little hurts we inflict on one another..._ she thought to herself. _It's in the tiny ways we wound each other before the pain passes and we learn how to get along again..._ Well, she hoped Batista was watching, because she was about to twist the knife.

Turning toward the Legend Killer, she put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Orton was surprised at first, but only at first. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist as the kiss intensified.

* * *

With a massive right kick and a roar, Batista knocked the monitor off its stand. The piece of equipment hit the floor, its screen cracking and fading to black in a spray of sparks. But even though the hated tableau was no longer right in front of his eyes, Batista could still see it in his memory, outlined clearly like a picture from a child's coloring book.

The Animal paced across the room, knocking things over, slamming into shelves, trying to do anything to take away the blackness that was eating away at his heart. The space suddenly seemed too confining, too small for his considerable bulk. He headed for the door, barely able to see the doorknob through the mist of red in his eyes.

"Whoa, _whoa_!" Flair was at his side, tugging at his arm. "Where're you going, Dave? You're upset, I know...but you can't just go out there and do something stupid!"

Batista turned to the Nature Boy, his features a grimace of pain. "Don't worry, Ric. I'm just going out to get some air. It's too cramped in here. Besides..." he glanced back at the destroyed monitor. "What would I gain by going out there?" Pushing the Nature Boy aside, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Superstars moved aside quickly, none of them wanting to end up in the path of the raging Animal. Batista finally arrived at the parking garage. The space was empty; the look on his face sending the few remaining crew members scurrying for cover. The Animal stormed up to the first car he saw, slamming his fist down on its roof. The impact didn't even leave a dent. Batista knew he was supposed to feel pain, that he could have broken his hand, but all he felt was numbness and cold. Clenching his fists, he turned and roared, a long wordless yell of pain that echoed off the walls.

The Superstars and crew members who heard it would later be hard pressed to say that the cry came from a human being.

* * *

Jericho took another swig of his beer, drinking in the raucous atmosphere of the club in Cleveland. He'd been congratulated on his team's victory at least a hundred times by patrons and other Superstars, and he had every right to feel proud. For one week, he, Chris Jericho, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla, would be calling the shots on Monday Night Raw.

But yet, in the midst of all this celebration, Y2J couldn't help but feel a certain heaviness of being, a slight feeling of unfinished business that was preventing him from giving in to his elation. He turned to his left. Chris Benoit was on the stool next to him, water bottle in hand. From the look on the Rabid Wolverine's face, he felt the same way about tonight.

"So," Jericho spoke up awkwardly, trying to sound casual. "How about that win tonight, huh?"

Benoit grunted unintelligibly, not looking up.

Jericho sipped his beer. "Looks like we'll both be getting a chance to run Raw. Any plans you'd like to share?" Geez, could he sound like any more of an idiot?

"Hmmm," Benoit answered, taking a long drink from his plastic bottle.

Jericho fell silent. This was ridiculous. Why was he even bothering to beat around the bush, when they both knew what was going on? When Y2J spoke again, his voice was serious. "Look, do you want to talk to her or should I?"

This time, Benoit didn't answer at all; just rolled the curved edge of his bottle around and around the counter in a small circle. After a few minutes, Jericho picked up his beer and with a sigh, headed to the back of the nightclub.

Elektra sat alone in a corner booth, far away from the rest of her teammates. A single green-shaded overhead lamp illuminated the table. When Jericho approached, she was stirring a screwdriver with a thin red straw, and from the slow deliberate movement of her hand, the drink was not her first or second of the evening. Elektra looked up as the former Undisputed Champion sat down across from her. "Chrisss...how nice of you to join me," she remarked, smiling. It was chilling to see how vacant her smile was. There was a slight slur to her words, and from the dull look in her eyes, she was teetering on the edges of her own lucidity. "I have to say I'm surprised... I always assumed that you _hated _me."

Jericho reached across the table and gently slid the glass out of her reach. "I think you've had enough for one evening."

"No!" Elektra groped clumsily for the glass, her fingernails clicking on the tabletop. "Please...I _need_ it. I can still feel the pain..." Her voice trailed off and she stopped grasping, looking up to peer at Y2J. "Why do _you_ care, anyway?" Her voice had taken on a note of bitterness. "Since when do you give a _shit_ about my well-being?"

Jericho stared hard at her. "What's with the attitude, sweetheart? I'd have thought tonight's win would be enough to make you happy. Not to mention the way you were making out with the Legend Killer in the ring."

Elektra's gaze had drifted down to the table, but she glanced up again when she heard this, and Jericho was struck by how _old_ her eyes looked. No one that new to the business should have eyes like that–not without paying a supreme price in return. "Happy? You think that a simple three-count is going to make me _happy_? I sacrificed _everything _to Evolution–my friends, my body, my _heart_–and in return I got to live every day in fear. You have _no idea_ what it's like to wake up every morning and wonder if the axe is going to fall." She looked down at the table, sliding the tips of her nails across its polished surface. "And then it did fall...and everything that I cared about was taken from me. Do you even understand what that's like, Chris, to lose everything that matters to you? So the answer to your question is _no_, I'm _not _happy." She laughed suddenly, and the sound was sharp and brittle. "The ironic thing is..." Her voice broke. "...if Triple H had come into that room only a few minutes later...I would have been free." She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut as though in pain.

Jericho didn't say anything. He sensed that Elektra had reached her breaking point, and if she didn't release everything now, her mind would snap. He didn't have to wait long. Tears pooled in Elektra's eyes, as her mental floodgates burst, and spilled over her cheeks. She gestured wildly with her hands, her voice taking on that same angry warmth from the parking garage.

"Right now...I feel like I'm in Bizarro-world," she blurted out through her tears. "I mean, I can't even catch my breath because everything is so _fucked up_. I'm kissing a man that I don't even _like_, let alone trust; my enemies are now supposed to be my friends, and for the first time since I've been here, _he's_ not there." Jericho didn't need to ask to know that she was talking about Batista. "And I know that I'm not supposed to care, but every time I even think about him, I feel like I'm dying inside. And I know that I'm supposed to hate him for what he did to me, but I can't." She looked at Jericho, and her eyes were almost pleading with him. "I can't because I know that I'm just as guilty as he is."

Jericho blinked, trying to fathom all this. "Wait a minute...this guy _power-bombed_ you in the middle of the ring? What could you have possibly done that's as bad as that?"

Elektra looked down, twirling her straw between thumb and forefinger. "Last week...in the parking lot...I saw you, all of you. I saw what you did to him." She looked up. "And did I step in? Did I try to stop it? _No_. What did I do? I _watched_." Her voice became hoarse with pain. "I _watched_...and I tried to tell myself that he deserved it...but I knew, deep down, that he didn't. Just like tonight–I only kissed Randy to hurt Dave. And I _know _it did. I _know _it hurt him. I know because it hurt me. When I kissed Randy, I felt like someone was punching me in the stomach." She slammed her hand down on the table. "So how can I be judgmental; how can I play the victim when I've done things that he'll never forgive me for?"

Jericho couldn't speak. He hadn't been prepared for such a catharsis of emotion. Months ago, he would have never thought that he and Elektra could share anything, but at this moment, he was struck by how similar they were. He understood her completely, because he had gone through the same thing. He knew all about the little games that wounded lovers play. But this was different. This shouldn't have happened. When he lost Trish, it had been his own fault; he should never have accepted that stupid bet. But Elektra and Batista...they were guiltless victims of Randy Orton's obsession. Jericho had joined forces with the Legend Killer so he could help take out Evolution. But instead of punishing the wicked, the innocent had suffered. Jericho wanted to throw up as he realized the part he had played in this sickening charade.

Elektra must have mistaken his pained expression for skepticism, because her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You don't believe me. You're just like everyone else. You think that I slept with Dave because I was _bored_." She indicated the fading bruise around her eye. "Take a look at this. You really think that I would have risked something like this just because I was _bored_?" She shook her head. "I _loved_ Dave Batista. I _still_ love him. And if I hadn't been such an _idiot_...I would be with him right now instead of here." She paused for breath, looking around at the other patrons in the nightclub. "So what's the point? Why should I stay here when I have nothing left but bad memories and heartache?" Her eyes flicked to Jericho. "That's just it, Chris: there _is _no point. So that's why, when my contract expires in a few weeks, I'm signing a new one...with SmackDown." She stood before Jericho could respond. Her eyes were glassy with tears. "I shouldn't have come to Raw in the first place. I was better off not knowing...not knowing..." Elektra grabbed her coat. "Tell Randy if you want...I don't give a shit." Stumbling slightly, she disappeared into the crowd.

Jericho buried his face in his hands, trying to come to terms with everything he had heard. But the only thing he knew for sure was that he was a complete shithead for believing the Legend Killer's crap. Sure, once upon a time, he _had _hated Elektra, but why? For kicking him in the balls once? For putting him through a few minutes of humiliation? He, along with three other Superstars, had taken away Elektra's _reason to live_. How was that fair? How was that justice? Elektra's pain wasn't like his; it wasn't going to go away. In fact, it was so bad that she was willing to run away rather than deal with it. It didn't matter what kind of physical assault she had survived; from the look in her eyes, she was dead inside already. And the whole time she was telling him this, Jericho had sat there with his mouth shut, unable to even tell her that it wasn't her fault, that _he_ was the reason for her pain, not her...and certainly not Dave Batista.

Jericho wished fervently that his week as General Manager came after Orton's, because when it was his turn to run Raw, he was going to make sure the Legend Killer paid for his actions.

A sardonic voice interrupted his thoughts. "Well, well, well...if it isn't Chris-freakin'-Jericho." Y2J looked up to see Lita standing over him, a drink in one hand. As he watched, she swirled the remaining liquid around in the tumbler, then drained it in one gulp. Smirking, she eased herself onto the seat formerly occupied by Elektra. "Don't look at me like that. I used to ride with the Hardys. You know that I can drink you under the table."

Jericho eyed the fiery-headed Diva warily. If there was one person the Raw locker tiptoed around more than Elektra, it was Lita. Even since losing her baby a month ago, the Queen of Hardcore's actions had become..._unstable_, to say the least. "You're not going to go all psycho on me, are you? I'd prefer to leave here without a broken nose."

Lita's smile vanished. "Bite me, Chris," she snapped. When this didn't even provoke a response, she tilted her head to one side, studying Jericho quizzically. "What's _your_ problem tonight? You get dumped again?"

Jericho sighed. "What if you found out that you totally fucked someone over–someone who didn't deserve it–but you were too chickenshit to tell them the truth?"

Lita smiled, a small bitter curl of her lip. "Well, if it were me...I'd find a friend..." She indicated herself. "...and I'd buy that friend a drink..." Lita reached across the table and grabbed Elektra's untouched screwdriver, pulling it back toward her. "Ooh, thanks. Anyway, then I'd tell that friend the story...and if the truth _happened _to come out later..." She shrugged. "I'd just say that it wasn't me." She sat back, sipping her drink.

Chris leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "All right," he began tentatively. "If anyone asks, you didn't hear this from me. You remember what happened to Elektra last week..."


	28. Chapter 28: Harsh Truth

**Author's Note: This is one of the few times I will literally beg, and I am literally begging you not to smash the computer screen, or give up on the story, or do any sort of violence toward anyone or anything after reading this chapter. I PROMISE on everything that is personally holy to me that in the next chapter, everything will get better, so PLEASE bear with me! On a lighter note, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with the story through the good, the bad and the ugly. I cannot thank you enough, and you are awesome beyond belief!**

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Chapter 28: Harsh Truth

The next two weeks felt like a blur to Elektra. Without Batista at her side to ground her and keep her in the present, all she did was go through the motions of existing, as though she had left her body to observe it from some higher plane. Her performance in the ring didn't suffer; after all, she had learned long ago to shut down her own emotions and maintain a specific persona inside the squared circle. But backstage, where there was no need to pretend anymore, she had shut down, period.

Other than the Divas, Elektra still hadn't told anyone that she was leaving Raw for good. The other women assumed that she merely wanted to leave the brand quietly, and thus kept the information to themselves. But the truth was that Elektra just didn't know how to break the news to Orton...or to Batista.

Her complicated relationship with the Legend Killer had become even more so since Survivor Series. Orton had interpreted their kiss in the center of the ring as a signal that Elektra was ready to take it to the next level. But in reality, she knew that it had been a mistake. Kissing Orton hadn't made her feel vindicated...it had made her feel _dirty_. Whatever Batista had been doing with Christy Hemme out in the hallway, he obviously hadn't been doing it to hurt her. So why had she stooped to playing petty little games that, in the end, caused her nothing but misery?

Besides, nothing could change the fact that whenever she looked at Randy Orton, she was reminded of the utter helplessness she had felt while in Evolution. Despite all his attention and support over the past few weeks, it couldn't erase the memory of what he had tried to do at Vengeance. _Men like you don't change_... Those words still rang as true for her now as they had three weeks ago. It didn't matter what Randy had done to help her; she still couldn't trust him, and in her mind, he would always be nothing more than a reminder of all that she hated about Raw.

And as for Batista...Elektra didn't how to _approach_ him, let alone tell him. She was too ashamed of herself to even look at him; how could she work up the courage to tell him that she was leaving forever?

Elektra had not even thought about what life would be like without even the presence of Dave Batista. She knew that she was repressing her emotions, shutting herself off from the cold reality that she would never see him again after tonight. Doing this could only set her up for major emotional damage in the future. But Elektra just couldn't come to grips with that reality, not yet. Maybe not ever.

The silver-eyed Diva pondered all of this as she sat on a bench next to Trish in the women's locker room, watching the events of Monday Night Raw unfold. It was Randy Orton's turn to run Raw, and he had used his authority to organize an impromptu "lingerie fashion show" with Stacy Keibler and the rookie Divas. In truth, it was nothing more than an opportunity for the Legend Killer to tell some of the most beautiful women in the world to take off their clothes and dance around the ring. Whether it was the sheer stupidity of the whole thing or the general numbness of being she had felt for several weeks, Elektra was amazed by how much she didn't care about what Randy Orton did.

Trish pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Oh my God, this is almost embarrassing!" she exclaiming. "They all look so _awkward _out there!" She cocked her head to the side. "That one in the blue...who is she, again?"

Elektra chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "M-something...Melissa? Melinda?" She snapped her finger abruptly. "_Melina_! That's it!"

"Well, she's _terrible_!" Trish replied. "If she's gonna be _that_ shy about walking about in her underwear, she needs to consider a career change." The Women's Champion turned toward Elektra. "If you don't mind my asking...why aren't you out there?"

Elektra's mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. "The entire world saw me in my bra and panties three weeks ago; what's the point in giving a repeat performance?" She looked around and noticed that the room had gone deathly silent. The only thing it needed was a few cricket chirps. "Okay..._that_ was a joke. Why'd everyone get so _serious_ all of a sudden?"

Trish leaned in a little. "Little word of advice...when you're making a joke, try not to sound so bitter." She said it lightly, but there was definite meaning behind her words. The two Divas fell silent for a few moments. Finally, Trish spoke again. "So...when do you meet with Theodore Long?"

Elektra leaned back, recrossing her ankles. She didn't look over at the blond Diva. "Tomorrow night, at the SmackDown taping."

"In other words, this is your last night on Raw." Trish answered. It was more of a statement than a question. Elektra's only response this time was a nod. Trish sighed. "I really wish you'd think about this," she said quietly. "Are you really going to solve anything by leaving?"

"Trish, I _have_ thought about this!" Elektra interrupted. "I've thought _a lot_ about this! But I can't stay here anymore. Everything I look at reminds me of Dave, and I can't stand it. I have to go someplace where I'm not worried about turning a corner and running into him."

"Are you going to tell him?" Trish asked.

Elektra felt tears sting her eyes, and instantly became angry at herself. Dammit, she was not going to cry, not now! If she started weeping, she knew she would never be able to stop. "Trish, I haven't even been able to look him in the eye for three weeks. What do _you_ think?" The last sentence came out harshly, and she hadn't meant it to.

Trish, however, was unfazed. "And what about Randy? Are you going to mention something to him?"

Elektra cringed and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know. _I don't know_!" she groaned. "I still don't really know how I feel about him. I know I don't love him. Every time I've kissed him, I've felt physically ill. But I can't ignore the fact that he's been there for me when I've needed someone the most–"

Both Divas jumped at the sound of laughter that came from the far corner. They turned around to see Lita straddling one of the benches. She was bent over, her body shaking with repressed mirth.

"What's so fucking funny?" Trish demanded, irritation marring her face.

Perhaps even more tragic than the sordid soap opera that was Elektra's life was the deterioration of the friendship between Trish and Lita. It was bad enough when the red-haired Diva became pregnant after sleeping with both Kane and Matt Hardy. But what made it worse was the WWE creative team's decision to make Trish her rival. It had been hard on the Women's Champion, having to say such horrible things to her best friend whenever the cameras were rolling. It hadn't helped matters when Lita was forced to marry the Big Red Machine as the result of a SummerSlam stipulation. Or when Matt Hardy had been the victim of a Chokeslam off the Titantron. Or when Lita lost the baby a few months later.

So much pain, so much loss, and to top it off, she was married to a man she hated...no one was really surprised when Lita finally snapped. But no one had expected her to turn on Trish. After all, Trish had been one of the few people who had stuck by Lita through everything, and was always one of the first to defend her against the inevitable verbal attacks. For a while, everyone assumed that Lita was just lashing out in her grief; that she had mixed up fantasy and reality and was confusing Trish's in-character comments with the real thing.

But when Lita broke Trish's nose at Survivor Series, it became clear that the Queen of Hardcore was not acting out of some displaced insanity. No, Lita was perfectly lucid when she swung that chair at Trish's head. The bitter irony was that the red-headed Diva truly did hate her best friend. And it wasn't because of the nasty remarks, it wasn't because of her grief...it wasn't even the Women's Championship that caused her to hate Trish. It was the simple fact that Lita had lost everything while Trish had emerged unscathed. And this was something that Lita could neither forgive nor forget.

Elektra eased herself to the edge of the bench, preparing to step in should another altercation occur. Trish, meanwhile, had risen to her feet, holding her Championship belt down by her side. "You got something you want to say, or are you going to sit there cackling like a hyena all evening?" From her tone, the Women's Champion was definitely pissed by now.

Lita looked up, suppressing a giggle. "Sorry, chica, it's not you I'm laughing at...it's _her_." She pointed over at Elektra, who frowned, puzzled. Lita continued, leaning back and bracing herself on her hands. "Going on about Randy and how he's always _been there_ for her, when he's the one who–" She burst into another fit of laughter, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Elektra felt a tingling sensation in her stomach, that familiar feeling that told her something was wrong. Unbidden, a picture was starting to form in front of her eyes, and although she didn't have all the pieces yet, she knew she was not going to like the final image. Slowly, Elektra stood, never taking her eyes off the Diva in the corner. "He's the one who _what_?" she asked, carefully enunciating each word. Lita's laughter finally ceased, but she didn't answer; merely stared back at her like the cat who's just swallowed the canary. Something about her self-satisfied smirk infuriated Elektra, and she suddenly stepped over the bench, closing some of the distance between her and Lita. "Don't stare at me like you don't know what's going on!" she snapped. "Answer the damn question!"

Now it was Trish's turn to step in. "Elektra, come on. You know she's just messing with–"

"No!" Elektra's vehement reply forced the Women's Champion to take a step back. The grey-eyed Diva pointed at Lita. "_She_ obviously has something she wants to say. So, c'mon, _Amy_, spit it out! Randy's the one who _what_?"

For a few seconds, Lita didn't answer. Then, she rolled her eyes and smirked. "What the hell...like it's gonna change anything." She leaned forward, pausing for dramatic effect. "You really think that Randy gives a _damn_ about you? He doesn't care about you–"

Elektra felt anger race through her limbs. Not only was Lita avoiding the question, but she was adding insult to injury. "You shut up!" she retorted, painfully aware of how juvenile her response sounded. She tried to push past Molly Holly and Victoria, who had materialized out of nowhere to block her path.

Lita continued, her voice mocking. "–He just wants to _fuck_ you–"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Elektra shouted. The next words passed her lips before she could even check herself. "Everyone knows you lost your mind after you lost your baby!" As soon as she said it, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to be so nasty. It was as though, in her rage, all the locked doors of her subconscious mind had been flung open.

It must have struck a nerve with Lita, because her smile vanished and she rose to her feet. Mentioning the miscarriage was always guaranteed to unleash the red-haired Diva's unholy wrath, and from the look in her brown eyes, her anger had just been released from its delicate cage. "Oh really?" Her alto voice was low and dangerous. "I don't know what I'm talking about? Look at _you_! You're so stupid, you can't even see that _Randy set you up_!"

When Lita uttered those last four words, it was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Elektra froze. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't even process what she had just heard. To process it would be to accept it, and the idea was far too monstrous to accept.

Lita continued, her smugness gone. "Yeah, that's right. Orton's played you from the start. He knew that he could never touch you while you were still in Evolution...but he also knew what Triple H would do to you if he ever caught you cheating...and that the only way to neutralize the Animal was to make him think, _just for a second_, that you were interested in someone else. He made sure that the first thing those two saw when they walked in the room was you making out with him. _He made sure_ that _he_ was the one at your bedside, not Batista. He's done _everything_ he can to make you believe he's the only one you can trust...while keeping you away from Dave. Hell, he even had his friends beat up the Animal, just to make him stay away from you. And it's worked. _He set you up and you fell for it_, you stupid bitch."

Elektra didn't even flinch at the insult; her mind was whirling too fast to hear it. Everything she had believed to be true about that night was a lie. Everything she had believed to be good about Randy Orton was a lie. Everything she had assumed about Batista...that had been a lie, too, and she had been stupid enough to let herself believe it. The thought that Orton had deliberately manipulated her away from Batista made her want to vomit. _This isn't happening. This can't be happening..._ But it _was_ happening. This harsh truth had been forced into her, jabbing at her heart with its sharp edges. She stared at Lita, trying to rein in her anger with the few remaining threads of her rationality. "_How long_?" Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

Lita frowned. "You mean how long he's been planning this?" She shrugged. "Who cares?"

"Leets–" Trish spoke warningly, but Elektra cut her off.

"No, no, _no_! Stop _fucking _around!" Her voice was a scream by now. She managed to inch just a little bit closer. "_How long__have you known about him_?" Lita didn't answer, only stared down at the floor sullenly. "_How long_?" Elektra pressed, her tone carrying an underlying threat.

Lita looked back up, and there was honest-to-God hatred blazing in her eyes now. "Since Survivor Series." she spat.

Elektra did the mental calculations almost instantly. "Two weeks...you've known for _two weeks_ what he did, what he's _still doing_... that I'm _leaving_ because of him... and you _never said anything_?" Lita's silence was a better admission of guilt than words could provide. Elektra slowly moved back a step, rage flickering through her brain like lightning, turning her vision the color of blood. "You _fucking cunt_!" she shrieked. Before the other Divas could stop her, she launched herself at Lita, tackling the redhead and sending both of them crashing to the floor. Elektra wrapped her fingers around Lita's throat, not even feeling the scratches from the other woman's flailing hands. Her heart, long cold and dead, was now alive again, pumping hot blood through her veins. She couldn't even form coherent thoughts anymore. All that mattered was the need to release this pent-up wrath.

"Get this whore off me!" Lita gagged, her face turning the same scarlet hue as her hair.

It took Trish, Victoria and Molly Holly to drag Elektra away from Lita, and even then, it was a struggle to restrain her. Elektra kicked and screamed like a wild animal, her eyes shooting silver sparks. Lita slowly got to her feet, massaging her neck. No one moved to assist her. Her eyes were filled with a strange mixture of hate, astonishment...and fear.

"_Why_?" Elektra finally regained enough rational thought to be able to form words. Tears slid down her face, but she didn't seem to notice. All her attention was focused on her former friend turned enemy. "Why did you do it?" She was almost pleading. "What did I ever do to you to make you hate me like this?"

"Why?" Lita snapped, her eyes narrowing. She slowly moved forward, like a wounded animal choosing to fight rather than die trapped in the corner. "Why should _you_ get to live happily ever after when life is _shit_? I watched Matt Hardy get chokeslammed...why should you end up with the man you love?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You should have learned this lesson a long time ago: this is the WWE. _There are no happy endings._"

Elektra stared back at her incredulously. "Oh my God," she whispered. "You're insane. You really have lost it this time."

Lita let out a short harsh laugh. "_I've_ lost it?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Who's the one who decided to join Evolution? Who's the one who chose to hook up with Triple H? And who's the one who started screwing Dave Batista, despite the consequences?" Lita gingerly rubbed her bruised throat. "You were making stupid decisions _long_ before I was. All that's happened to you...Randy may have planned it, but you brought it on yourself. You _deserved_ what happened to you." Lita lowered her voice. "People call me a slut, but you were whoring yourself out from the beginning. You should have expected something like this."

"At least I'm not like you!" Elektra shot back. "Playing with other people's lives... dragging everyone else to your level so they feel as shitty as you do." She paused, catching her breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you... about what happened to your baby...but I'll never forgive you for this," She lunged forward again, her voice rising in volume. "Do you hear me, bitch? I will _never _forgive you for this!" Elektra finally pulled herself free, but instead of heading for Lita, she turned around and made a beeline for the door.

"Where're you going?" Trish asked, her voice full of concern and worry.

"Where do you think?" Elektra answered without turning around. She turned the doorknob.

Lita smirked. "Like it'll change anything."

Elektra turned around, and the look in her eyes was enough to make even Lita fall silent. Her voice was a quiet whisper of menace. "At least I can say that I tried." Pulling open the door, she stepped out into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Lita looked around for the first time, and saw that everyone was staring at her, their faces expressionless. "What?" she demanded. "What, are you all _judging _me now? Like you wouldn't have done the same–"

"Amy," Trish's voice was low and resigned. "I'm going to turn around and count to five. And if you're still here by the time I turn back around, I'm going to kill you. Understand?"

Lita's mouth dropped open in shock. "What? You can't be serious–"

Trish spun around. "One," she counted. "Two," She had just reached "Three," when she heard the door open and close with a slam. Trish sighed and let her head sink down. "Goodbye, Amy," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

* * *

Elektra couldn't remember when she had ever been this angry. It felt as though rage was actually escaping from her body as bolts of white-hot electricity. She had never been so charged, so tensed and ready to explode at any second. Or maybe Lita's revelation had already been the metaphorical flame to the powder keg. Either way, anger consumed her, walked beside her, whispered into her ear with its insidious murmur. But this time, anger was also her friend: instead of clouding her thoughts, it pulled everything around her into sharp focus. Her thoughts were few, but decisive: Randy Orton would pay. If it was the last thing she did (and with him being General Manager, it probably would be), she would make sure than Randy Orton paid dearly for his crimes.

She reached the GM's office, the door's face adorned with the Raw logo and simple block lettering reading "Randy Orton, General Manager". The door itself was slightly ajar. Elektra could hear feminine giggles emanating from within.

Lifting up one pink, jewel-encrusted stiletto, she kicked the door in as hard as she could. It flew open, hitting the adjacent wall with a BANG. As it bounced back, Elektra brought its swing to a halt with her forearm, ignoring the sharp pain as her funny bone met steel. Slowly, she pulled her arm back down to her side and stepped into the room.

Orton was there, along with the five Divas from the fashion show. He was sitting on the edge of his desk; they were gathered around him in a semi-circle, all of them clad in short silky robes. Orton had been leaning over toward Stacy Keibler, presumably about to whisper something in her ear, and now he was still frozen in that expectant position, his fingers grazing Stacy's chin. His eyes were locked on Elektra. The other Divas–Christy, Maria, Candice and Melina– were all staring at her as well, their mouths agape, their eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. The whole scene seemed like a standoff from an old Western, as though the slightest movement might provoke some sudden violent reaction.

Elektra never took her eyes off Orton. "All of you..._get out_." she growled.

This time, the Divas looked from her to Orton uncertainly, as though unsure of whose authority to respect. Elektra clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm until she felt one or two pierce the skin. "_Now_!" she screamed, her voice reaching decibels unheard even in a sold-out arena during the Undertaker's entrance.

Without another word, the five Divas scattered, scurrying around Elektra and out the door. Before the tumbler had even clicked into place, Elektra had closed the distance between her and the Legend Killer. Orton opened his mouth to speak, but Elektra swung her hand up, slapping him across the face as hard as she could. She slapped him again. And again.

The Legend Killer finally snapped out of his initial shock, and grabbed both of her wrists, bending her backward over the desk. Elektra struggled and tried to pull her hands free, but Orton was too strong. "Calm down, calm the _fuck_ down!" he yelled, his face filled with confusion and irritation. "_What the fuck_?What the _fuck_ is your _problem_, stomping in here like this, interrupting me–"

"Cut the bullshit, Randy!" Elektra spat, her eyes glued to the Legend Killer's. "You should _know_ why I'm here, you fucking bastard!"

Orton frowned. "Is this...is this about the fashion show?" he asked hesitantly.

Elektra felt a fresh surge of rage. "Don't patronize me!" She pushed on Orton's chest, and he finally pulled back, freeing her wrists and allowing her to stand up. "Don't you _dare_ patronize me!" She shoved her finger into his face. "I don't give a shit about your fucking strip show out there! This is because of what _you did to me three weeks ago_, you son of a bitch!"

Orton stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied slowly, but the look in his eyes betrayed that he did.

"Do me a favor, Randy!" Elektra retorted. "Behave like a fucking _man_ for once and tell me the truth!" She stepped back, still pointing at him. Her whole arm was trembling. "_You set me up_," she whispered. "You planned the whole thing. You _made sure_ that Hunter would see us, that _Dave_ would see us...knowing how they would react, knowing what would happen. And after it was over...after they practically tore me apart, you were _conveniently_ right there, crawling inside my head just like a spider, making sure I believed you were the only one I could trust." Elektra looked away, trying to blink back tears. When her gaze returned to Orton, her eyes were like chips of ice again. "You took _everything_ from me, you unimaginable bastard." she whispered harshly.

Now it was Orton's turn to look away, and when his eyes met hers again, all vestiges of humanity had vanished from his face. All that remained was a handsome but emotionless mask. "I'd ask you how you found out, but it doesn't really matter now, does it?" His voice was as lifeless as his face, but his tone...his tone was almost casual.

Elektra's heart was pounding within her chest. She felt like she was having a stroke; her mind was moving too fast for her body to keep up. For a moment, she couldn't speak; her throat was filled with a huge ball of emotion. "_Why_?" she managed to gasp out, and in that single word, all of her anguish could be heard.

"Why?" Orton repeated her question mockingly, stepping forward. Elektra backed up, not wanting any more contact with the Legend Killer. "_Why_? Because I'm _Randy Orton_, that's why! Everything I've ever wanted–Championships, women, power–I've gotten, _one way or another_. But _you_–" He reached out to touch her face, but Elektra shied away. Orton slowly lowered his arm and continued, his voice dangerously soft. "You were always the one thing that I could never have. It didn't matter what I was–Intercontinental Champion, the _youngest_ World Heavyweight Champion–you always treated me like a _joke_." Orton began to pace, stalking back and forth. "It was bad enough, watching you act all high-and-mighty...but then I find out that, out of _all_ the guys on the roster, you were fucking Dave Batista." He stopped and stared hard at her. "It didn't surprise me that you cheated on Hunter. The guy's a dick. But...the _Animal_? How desperate _were _you?" He rushed on before Elektra could even consider answering the question. "Besides...like I told you before...you and me, babe...we were meant for each other."

Elektra's grey eyes grew wide. "You're crazy..." she whispered, her voice incredulous.

"Am I?" Orton shot back. "Or am I just the only one who knows the truth...that deep down, in those places you don't like to think about, it isn't Hunter or Dave that you, but _me_!" He moved closer, but Elektra was too shocked to pull away this time. "So I 'took care' of things, I send Dave a message...just so that once, you'd have no choice but to turn to me." He smiled, and it was like looking at a Death's Head mask. "Yeah, I set you up, and you know what? I enjoyed _every second_ of it. That beating I took...it was worth it just to see you get taken down a peg or two. And afterwards...watching you walk away from Dave, seeing that _tiny spark of hope_ in your eyes die a little bit each day..." Orton licked his lips. "It really turned me on, if you know what I mean."

Elektra closed her eyes. "Helen of Troy..." she whispered to herself.

Orton's smile disappeared. "What? What are you babbling about now?"

Elektra slowly opened her lids again. "Someone once told me that I'd be in the middle of a war. But I never thought that you'd be a part of it." She slowly took a step backward, only too aware that she was running out of room to maneuver in. "Were you even planning on telling me this? Or were you just going to wait until there was nothing left in me? Until I was completely humiliated?"

Orton shrugged. It was chilling to see such casual gestures paired with a sociopathic countenance. "To be honest, I thought I'd be fucking you by now. But for some reason, _some reason_, you kept putting me off." He sighed, and a hint of genuine annoyance crossed his face. "Man, to think...I was this close–" He held his thumb and forefinger a centimeter or so apart. "–_This__close_ to having you, to making you _scream_ with pleasure."

Elektra couldn't suppress the ripple of amusement that welled up inside her, or the laugh that escaped her lips. "You're kidding, right? Sorry to disappoint you, but you weren't that close. You were _never_ that close." Orton's features twisted with rage, but now it was Elektra's turn to cut him off. "You know that I'd have to be crazy, right? To want to touch you?"

"You didn't seem to feel that way three weeks ago," Orton interrupted, his expression relaxing back into that vile arrogant smile.

Elektra stared back at him coldly. "Who said that I was thinking about you? Yes, I kissed you...but the only way I could keep myself from throwing up was by pretending you were Dave."

Orton's jaw twitched and he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her backward until she hit the wall. Leaning down, he shoved his face into hers, his handsome features distorted by hatred. "After everything I did, you're still hung up on him. Why?" he whispered through gritted teeth. "Dave Batista is a jacked-up freak of nature; I'm the _Legend Killer_. What is it about him, huh? What could you _possibly_ see in him?"

Elektra smiled bitterly. "Randy...if I have to explain it to you, then I know you'll never understand." She stared defiantly up at the Legend Killer, who eventually backed away a few paces. "Why is it so hard for _you_, for _anyone_ to believe that I _love_ Dave Batista?" Elektra pushed herself off the wall. "God, you are _just like_ Hunter. You think just because you're the Game or the Legend Killer, or whatever other name you give yourself, that I'm automatically going to fall all over you. Well, I played that game with Hunter. For ten months, I let him think that he was my world, and in return, he protected me. And I played that game with you. I let you believe that you could have me at some point, and you let me use you as a kickstand. I'd thank you for that... if you weren't also the reason I needed a kickstand." Elektra stepped up toward the Legend Killer, her voice growing stronger. "But you know what, Randy? I'm sick and tired of it. I'm _tired_ of hiding behind men I hate. I'm _tired_ of being fought over like a title belt. But most of all...I'm _tired_ of using my body as a bargaining chip. From now on, it's about what _I_ want...and all I ever wanted was to be with Dave." Now she was practically touching Orton. Her mouth was next to his ear. "Face facts, Randy: I don't _need_ you anymore, I'm not _afraid_ of you anymore, and I don't owe you _anything_. So take a good look, Legend Killer. Take a good long look at the one thing you can't have because I would _never__ever_ sleep with you!"

Orton's body tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he clamped his hand over her mouth, shoving her back against the wall with a crash. Elektra tried to scream, but all that came out were a few muffled sounds. "If I were you, I'd watch what I say. You never know when you'll have to take it back." Orton hissed. "So...you're in _love_ with the Animal. So you're willing to throw _everything_ away just to be with that jacked-up nimrod. But did you ever stop to think that maybe Dave doesn't love you? Maybe after everything that's happened, he doesn't think that you're worth it anymore." Orton relaxed his grip on her face, but only slightly. "So let's see how badly Dave is willing to fight for you. I'm going to make a match for tonight." He held up his free hand, spelling out imaginary letters on a marquee. "The Legend Killer Randy Orton versus Evolution's Animal Dave Batista. The prize...you. And if I win...I finally get what I want from you."

Elektra started to ask what that could possibly be, but then she looked up into the Legend Killer's eyes and gagged when she saw the raw lust gleaming in their depths. "Oh God, no!" she managed to gasp out. "No way! I'm not that desperate!"

Orton's response was to squeeze harder, his fingertips digging into her flesh, hard enough to bruise her skin. "This isn't a request–it's an order. Don't forget, _I'm_ General Manager. _I'm_ God now! If I win tonight, we're going to come back here, and you're going to get on _that_ couch, and get ready for the fuck of your life." The Legend Killer leaned in even closer, his lips almost grazing her skin. "Did I mention that you'll be at ringside to watch? But don't get any ideas...if you interfere, _in any way_, I'll make life miserable for you _and _him. So...what do you say, beautiful?" His features had all the physical appearance of charm, but without warmth, the effect was just skin stretched over bone.

Elektra could only stare up at him. She was helpless and they both knew it. Orton was right: as General Manager, he _was_ God. And although Elektra had a backup plan, a place of refuge to turn to...she couldn't leave Batista at the mercy of the Legend Killer. The fact that the rift between her and Batista was the result of a psychopath's carefully concocted scheme...Elektra couldn't leave now, not after knowing the truth. She didn't care what happened to her; if there was even the smallest chance that she could be reunited with the Animal again, she would take it, no questions asked. That was love, wasn't it? Knowing when to stop running away and start fighting for the most important thing that you can ever feel?

Elektra glared at Orton with utter loathing in her silver eyes. She vowed that whatever happened in the ring, it would not end the way the Legend Killer planned. "_I hate you_," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Orton shrugged. "You'll get over it." Elektra had this peculiar sense of deja vu; that she had heard these words before, that she had been forced to make this same kind of impossible compromise before. Orton let go of her face, and grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward the door. "Now, we better hurry," he remarked, his voice carrying only the barest hint of menace. "Because that match...is happening _right now_."


	29. Chapter 29: Worth Fighting For

Chapter 29: Worth Fighting For

Orton stormed down the hallway, pulling Elektra along behind him. He yanked on her wrist so forcibly that she felt as though her whole arm might pop out of its socket. But despite the pain, Elektra didn't cry out, didn't wince, even though her entire limb was throbbing. If there was one thing she was not going to do, it was showing any more signs of helplessness toward the Legend Killer. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the back of his head, glowering balefully. Superstars they passed stared at them with open mouths, but neither one of them noticed; they were too wrapped up in their own personal clash of egos.

Elektra could hear cheering, a sound that increased in volume as they neared the end of the corridor. They must be approaching the entrance to the Titantron. The grey-eyed Diva tried one last time to tug her hand free, but Orton's grip was so strong it might as well have been a manacle. The Legend Killer didn't even acknowledge her struggles. Elektra clenched her teeth, her chest suddenly feeling too small for her heart and the anger it contained.

"He's going to kick your ass," she muttered, low enough for only Orton to hear.

Orton stopped in mid-step and stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Oh, _really_?" His voice was a threatening murmur. "Well, we'll just see about that." He reached out and traced the contour of her cheek with his finger. Elektra shuddered and turned her head away. Orton leaned closer, his breath caressing her ear. "Tonight, you're finally going to see what it's like to be with a _real_ man."

"If I see a real man, I'll let you know," Elektra retorted. "Because all I see right now is a little boy pretending to be a Legend Killer." Her comment had the same effect as a stinging slap; Orton pulled back and she saw a renewal of rage flash across his features. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his arm start to move, but Elektra never let her gaze leave the Legend Killer's face. "What're you gonna do, Randy?" she taunted quietly. "Are you gonna _hit_ me, just like Hunter did? Are you gonna use your fists to show me how big and tough you are?" She smirked, ignoring the involuntary flicker of fear that shot through her body. "And to think that I was afraid of you all this time. You really _are_ pathetic; still trying to be like Triple H." She moved in just a little bit closer. "At least Hunter _knew_ how to please a woman."

She knew the blow was coming as soon as she spoke those last words. When Orton's hand crashed against her cheek, Elektra felt sharp bolts of pain shoot down her neck as her head snapped violently to the left. She accidentally bit down on her tongue, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She sagged toward the floor, her hair falling across her face, but Orton hauled her back up, grabbing her other wrist and jerking her into the lean curve of his body. The act of aggression must have aroused him as well, she could feel him pressing against her. "You watch that mouth of yours or I'll stop being so nice," he growled.

Elektra stared at him dully, not really seeing him, not really caring, either. All she could think about was that if Orton wasn't in this temporary position of power, she would have no real reason to fear him. She saw, truly saw, for the first time how pitiable he really was. Despite all the bravado, all he had done to distance himself from Evolution's tactics, he was still trying to be the Game, right down to his domination of her. But instead of fear, all Elektra felt was a quiet dread of what the Legend Killer could possibly have planned to make him so confident of victory.

While she contemplated this, Orton turned his attention from her to a nearby production assistant checking items off on a clipboard. The unsuspecting young man looked up and visibly gulped when he saw the Legend Killer glaring at him.

"You!" Orton ordered. "Get the director on that headset of yours; tell him I want my music and video ready _right now_!"

The PA's eyes shifted from Orton to Elektra, his glance lingering on the rough approximation of a handprint marring her cheek. "What's–" he began to say, even though he should have learned by now not to question the Superstars.

"_Now_!" Orton shouted. The hapless assistant scurried away, willing to put his personal reservations aside for fear of being RKO'd. Orton released one of Elektra's wrists, and dragged her along, finally arriving at the ominous black curtain. Beyond it, she could hear the crowd, the occasional shout or "WOOO" making itself heard in the midst of its murmurings. The heavy rock beat of Mercy Drive suddenly burst through the speakers. _Hey, nothing you can say/Nothing's gonna change what you've done to me..._ The Legend Killer pushed the drape aside, stepping out onto the top of the ramp with Elektra in tow.

The fans burst into scattered cheers when they saw Orton, some of them a little confused. After all, the Legend Killer had already introduced a battle royale, announced a main event match, and got down in the ring with some very beautiful scantily clad women. What more could he possibly have to add? The cheering became even louder when they saw Elektra. The vicious beating by Triple H had originally placed her in a nebulous zone with the fans, with none of them really sure how to react to her presence. But her interference at Survivor Series, insuring a win for Team Orton, had placed her firmly on the face side of the roster. However, even the most rabid of RKO fans began to fall silent when they saw the grim determination on the Legend Killer's face; the reluctance with which Elektra followed him.

Unlike Triple H, who had hurled her like a bag of dirty laundry, Orton merely stopped at the apron and pushed her forward roughly, indicating that she should enter the ring. Elektra didn't argue, but walked carefully up the steel steps and stepped through the ropes into the squared circle. At this point, it was easier to be compliant, because she didn't want to think about what Orton might do to her (or to Batista) if she tried to run. Besides, where could she run to that he wouldn't find her?

The Legend Killer, instead of following her, walked around the outside of the ring and retrieved a microphone from a surprised Lillian Garcia. A few quick strides took him up the steps and inside the ring. Moving next to Elektra, he grabbed her arm again. His grip was so strong that she felt her hand begin to go numb.

Orton looked around at the surrounding seats of enthusiastic fans, a confident smirk on his face. Lifting the mic to his mouth, he turned toward the entrance ramp and the gigantic screen above it. "I know that some of you out there are wondering why the General Manager of Monday Night Raw is making yet another appearance tonight." His expression and voice contained nothing but self-assurance and charm. The crowd was firmly on his side and he knew it. "Well, let's just say that I have some..._unfinished business_ to attend to." He gestured toward the top of the ramp. "First, let me reassure the Superstars participating in tonight's main event–Triple H, Benoit, Edge, don't worry. This doesn't affect any of you. As far as I'm concerned, the three of you can settle your differences in your Triple Threat match tonight for the _World Heavyweight Championship_." The last three words got a weak pop, but for the most part, the audience's attention was completely fixated on the Legend Killer. "Now, while I was backstage, I realized that there's still one Superstar on this roster who I have a problem with, someone who still hasn't paid for his actions." Orton paused, and all the warmth vanished from his face and voice. "That person...is _Dave Batista_!" The fans burst into a chorus of boos at the mention of the Animal's name. The Legend Killer didn't seem to notice. "Batista–as General Manager of Raw, I am _ordering _you to come down to this ring _right now_!" He fell silent, and let his arm drop back down to his side.

Now it was Elektra's turn to gaze around the arena. Some sections had broken out into an impromptu "R-K-O" chant. She understood, at least partly, why Orton wanted her at ringside. Everyone in the audience would see her in the ring next to the Legend Killer, and assume that she was there to help punish Batista for his actions three weeks ago. They would never guess that she was the one being punished. Elektra wanted to grab the microphone, to try and make the fans understand that the man they were cheering for was really the one to blame. But she couldn't move. She couldn't even speak, because one wrong word might snap the delicate thread holding the sword aloft above her head.

But then, all of a sudden, she didn't have to, because Orton opened his mouth, and changed the crowd's perception of him forever.

"Ba-_tis-_ta!" he sang mockingly, a devilish smile lighting his face before quickly vanishing. "Maybe you didn't hear me so well the first time. Maybe you're thinking that the authority of the General Manager isn't enough reason to listen to me. In that case–" He pulled Elektra against his side, looping his arm around her neck, and practically strangling her in the process. Elektra gasped in shock, and struggled briefly, sinking her nails into his arm. But the Legend Killer didn't seem to notice; he was too busy calling out the Animal. "–Maybe you'll listen to _this_!" he continued. "I've got something you want, Dave, something that _apparently_ belongs to you." He turned his head toward Elektra, the demonic grin reappearing. "But then again...maybe I should just let you hear it from her." He held the mic in front of her mouth.

Elektra could barely talk; Orton's forearm was pressing against her windpipe. "Dave!" she gasped. "Don't do it! It's a–"

Orton cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Easy now, babe," he said soothingly. "Save some of that excitement for later." He turned back to the Titantron screen. "But seriously, Batista, you know what I have, you know what I'm capable of, and if you're not out here by the time I count to ten..." He stopped, and glanced to either side of the arena before locking his eyes on the entrance ramp. "_I'll fire her_!"

Elektra didn't know which crowd reaction was louder: the collective gasp of astonishment or the boos. After spending almost three months winning the crowd over, Orton had turned them against him in less than five minutes. But the fans' perception of the Legend Killer was the absolute last thing on her mind. When she heard those words, her heart froze over and stopped completely for a second or two. So this was Orton's master plan, the reason for his overconfidence. He was going to use her, use Batista's feelings for her, to win the match. Elektra knew she _did_ have an ace in the hole. After all, the Legend Killer didn't know that she was going to SmackDown. But then again...neither did Batista. Elektra's heart resumed beating, pounding faster and faster. What other cruel games would Orton have planned when Batista came out to the ring?

_If_ Batista came out to the ring.

Elektra couldn't discount the possibility that Batista was watching her at this very moment, and choosing to do nothing. She really couldn't blame him. Why should he fight for her again, when doing so the first time had only earned him a slap in the face and a heinous beating? Why should he bother to care about her anymore?

The fans whispered amongst themselves, anxious with anticipation. Some of them had begun counting already. It didn't matter who the Superstar was; watching someone get the axe was always amusing in itself. Orton raised the microphone again. "One!" he shouted, nearly deafening her. "Two!" No Batista. "Three!" The crowd's murmurs grew louder. This was starting to become interesting. "Four!"

As he counted, Elektra felt her body sag and her knees begin to buckle. If Orton got to ten, it wouldn't matter if she lost her job; her heart would be dead already.

"Eight!" The arena was in a frenzy by now. "Nine!" Elektra's stomach teetered on the edge of oblivion. If she heard the Legend Killer utter ten, she might as well throw herself head-first onto the steel steps, because there would be no further reason to live. And there was no way she would sleep with Orton. Her old ultimatum, spoken in an empty hallway in Hershey's Giant Center ten months ago, still held true: she would rather die than let Orton touch her.

The Legend Killer stopped and turned his head toward her, pressing his mouth against her ear. Only she could hear his cold words: "Looks like you're not even worth saving."

He turned back to the microphone...and then a familiar set of rhythmic guitar riffs exploded through the sound system. The crowd leapt to its feet. Orton's expression didn't change, but his eyes were glued to the Titantron. Elektra took advantage of the distraction and squirmed free, backing away from Orton, her gaze fixed on the ramp as well. When Batista strode through the black curtain onto the top of the Titantron, Elektra had to clap both hands over her mouth to keep from bursting into tears of happiness. It didn't matter what Orton had planned; the fact still remained that Batista had stepped up to defend her, even after all that had gone wrong between them.

The Animal was wearing his wrestling gear. As he walked down the ramp, he was greeted on both sides by a mixture of cheers and boos. Most of the fans were still anti-Evolution; five minutes couldn't change that. But enough of them had realized that, regardless of three weeks ago, Elektra was probably safer with him than with the Legend Killer. His movements were controlled, deliberate; his face was a stoic mask. He didn't even look over at Elektra; all his attention was focused on Orton.

Elektra couldn't stop staring at him. In this night of lies and deceit, only one thing was certain: she loved this man. She was completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with this man, and it was stupid of her to even consider trying to forget him. Elektra realized that she would never go to SmackDown, at least not voluntarily. The only way she was leaving Raw was with a fight.

The Animal climbed the steps and eased his huge frame through the ropes. He walked forward a few steps, right toward the Legend Killer. From where she stood, Elektra could see that his entire body was tensed, ready for action. Although he was hiding it well, Batista had come to the ring for a fight. He still had yet to look at her.

"Whoa, whoa, stop right there!" Orton's voice cut through her reverie, jarring her back to the unpleasant present. Batista halted, if somewhat reluctantly. He stared silently at Orton, the muscles in his jaw twitching. The Legend Killer held up his hand, as though the gesture could somehow ward off the rage of the Animal. "Glad to see you finally made it. You were cutting it close." He began to walk back and forth casually as he spoke. "Don't worry...I'm not starting a Kiss-My-Ass club or anything like that. No, you and I...we're going to settle our beef the old-fashioned way–we're going to have a match. You, get a ref out here!" This last demand was directed at a technician crouching by the ring. The crew member immediately dashed off in search of one of the black-and-white striped officials. Orton turned back to Batista, who had begun to advance forward again. "Whoa, easy there! Wait for the ref! Besides, I have a few..._stipulations_ I need to mention before we get down to business."

Elektra felt her breath catch in her throat. _Here it comes..._she thought to herself.

Orton continued pacing, gesturing as he talked. "Think of this match as a winner-take-all. But the prize isn't championships or title shots. When I say winner-take all...I mean all of _her_!" He turned and pointed directly at Elektra, who froze, horror spreading across her face. For a moment, Orton's eyes locked on hers and she saw the madness glowing in their depths. "The winner gets Elektra." Orton repeated softly, his gaze still captivated by the frightened silver-eyed Diva. Behind him, Batista tensed, his body coiled to strike. But, almost as though he had eyes in the back of his head, the Legend Killer turned back around to face the Animal again. "I should mention that I use the term 'match' _loosely_. Someone's shoulders _are_ going to get pinned to the mat for three...but there's no way in _hell_ that it's going to be me. If you don't do _exactly_ what I say, I'll fire her like _that_!" Orton snapped his fingers. "Do you understand?"

Batista didn't even nod. Orton stepped closer, getting right in the Animal's face. "_Do you understand_?" he pressed harshly.

"I get it, Randy," Even from across the ring, Elektra heard Batista's quiet reply as clearly as if she'd been standing right next to him.

Orton smiled arrogantly. "Good...now get down on your knees."

Batista didn't move. From the way his jaw was throbbing, he was obviously gritting his teeth. Without answering, he looked off to the side, his eyes scanning the thousands of fans simultaneously cheering and booing him.

"Hey!" The first signs of irritation crept into the Legend Killer's voice. "Don't look at them, _look at me_! Get down on your knees _now_ or she's history!"

Batista didn't turn his head; only slid his eyes over to meet Orton's. They were filled with hatred...and an intense pain. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself down to one knee, then to both.

"_No_!" Elektra cried, her eyes filling with tears, blurring her vision. In all her worst imaginings, she hadn't foreseen this. Orton didn't just want victory; he wanted to humiliate the Animal in from of the entire world. And the only way he could do that was by rigging the game. _Triple H would be proud..._she thought to herself bitterly. She could almost picture the Game watching the present events unfold with a smile on his face, secretly proud of his former protegee.

Elektra began walking forward hesitantly. "Dave, please don't do this–" she pleaded. _I'm not worth it!_ her mind screamed.

Orton spun around, freezing her with a glance. "You shut up!" He turned his attention back to Batista. "Don't listen to her, Dave. You know how women get. You finally think that you've got a idea of what's going on in their heads, and BAM! They change their minds on you." His expression twisted with hate and loathing. "Do you even _know_ how much _time and energy_ I spent trying to turn her against you? And now, all of a sudden, I find out that, despite all that I did, she still can't get over you. She _won't_ get over you." He grabbed Batista's chin, forcing the Animal to look over at Elektra. "Look at her, Dave. Just _look_ at her. She could have any man she wants...and she chooses you. Why?" Orton shook his head. "I don't get it. I mean, what makes _you_ so special?" The Legend Killer paused, and then hit Batista across the face with an open-handed smack. The Animal's head snapped to the side, but his expression didn't change. Orton pulled back, his mouth curled in a grimace of disgust. "But it doesn't matter anymore. If she won't change her mind, then I'll _make her_ change it. And I'll do that by pinning you, right here, in this ring." Orton looked briefly from Elektra to Batista. "Think of it as your parting gift to her. Prove to Elektra how much you love her by saving her job. Prove it by lying down, letting the ref count to three and then watching me walk off with her. If you don't..." Orton let the thought trail off.

Elektra covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep her body from shaking as she wept. There was no way Batista could win. If he did what Orton asked, she would be forced to sleep with the Legend Killer. If he didn't, she would lose her job and they would be separated forever. But in the midst of this impossible conundrum, she knew that she would rather see Batista fight back than subject himself to this humiliation. Elektra slowly sank to her knees, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Please don't do this," she whispered. "Please don't...I'm not worth it...I'm not worth it..."

Seeing movement at the top of the Titantron, her heart fluttered with hope for a moment. But it was only referee Mike Chioda heading down to the ring with a look of distaste on his face. He obviously did not approve of the Legend Killer's underhanded tactics, but unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. The referees were subject to the whims of the General Manager, same as the Superstars.

Orton noticed Chioda's approach as well, and smirked, his expression pure evil. "Tick-tock, Dave. Time's running out. What's it gonna be?" Remember..." he pointed back at Elektra. "...her job hangs in the balance."

Batista glanced over, and for the first time, his eyes met Elektra's. In that instant, everything–Orton, Chioda, the fans–all of it disappeared, and it was just the two of them again. The way it always had been. The way it always would be. When he looked at her, the stoicism drained from his features, and she could see his emotions clearly written across his face. If there were any doubts lingering in Elektra's mind, they were dispelled when she saw the pure love and tenderness shining in his eyes...along with the resignation to do what he felt had to be done. She saw his lips move, mouthing the words: _I'm sorry_... Elektra slowly shook her head, realizing with sick horror what he was about to do. She could only watch as the Animal stretched his body out full-length across the mat, his hands at his sides.

"_No, Dave_!" Elektra wailed, slamming her fists down on the canvas. She thought that her heart was going to explode; she was crying so hard.

Orton, however, was practically beside himself with glee. "That's right, on your back...just like your girlfriend's gonna be later tonight."

"No, no, _no_!" Elektra was sobbing, tears rolling down her face, dripping onto the mat. She crawled on hands and knees toward the Legend Killer, clinging to his leg like a small child. "Stop it, Randy, please! I'll do whatever you want...I'll sleep with you! Just don't make him do this!"

Orton stopped and peered down at her. "Whatever I want?" he repeated with malicious emphasis.

"Anything!" Elektra pleaded. "Just stop this!"

Orton rotated his body away from the prostrate Batista, turning his full attention on her. "That's a pretty tempting offer," he replied slowly, stroking his chin with his free hand.

Elektra gazed up at him tearfully. "And just one more thing..."

Orton stared at her expectantly. "Yes?"

In a heartbeat, Elektra's expression went from pleading to spiteful. Before the Legend Killer could even comprehend what was happening, she reached up and grabbed his balls, digging her fingernails into his testicles and twisting as hard as she could. All of the male audience collectively cringed and "Ooooh!"d. Orton yelped, his deep voice rising up a few octaves, his face a portrait of agony. As he bent over in pain, Elektra grabbed the microphone with her other hand, bringing it down to her mouth. "I said that I'd have to be crazy to touch you," she snarled. "How's _this_?"

Orton glared at her through his pain, bringing his free hand up to backhand her across the mouth. Elektra released her grip as she hit the mat, her head reeling from the blow. She pushed herself backward with her feet, clawing at the canvas, trying to put as much distance between her and the Legend Killer before he recovered. She swung her head back, pushing her hair out her face, just in time to see Orton advancing toward her, gingerly cupping himself with one hand. He reached down, clamping his hand around her throat, hauling her to her feet. His handsome face was warped into something unrecognizable, something not even human. "I warned you!" he screamed. "I warned you! Now you're _really_ going to pay, you bitch!"

The Legend Killer felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see a massive fist speeding toward his face. There was a crunch of cartilage and Orton released Elektra, staggering backwards, blood pouring down his face from his busted nose. The Animal came at him like a freight train, forcing him into the corner, driving the air out of him with ferocious shoulder block after shoulder block. Stepping back, he grabbed the Legend Killer's arm and swung him toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Orton hit them and bounced back, only to be caught in mid-step and hurled onto the mat with a massive spinebuster.

But Batista wasn't finished yet. He paced around the ring, roaring and shaking the ropes with almost enough strength to tear them out of the turnbuckle post. He turned his focus back to the Legend Killer. The look in his eyes was murderous. Striding to the center of the ring, he grabbed a handful of Orton's jacket and pulled him up into position for the Batista Bomb. With only a small grunt of effort, he flipped the Legend Killer up over his head, and then drilled him into the mat with all of the force of an atomic explosion.

The referee was in the ring now. Batista looked from him to the unconscious Legend Killer, then dropped to the mat, and hooked Orton's leg for the pin. Mike Chioda dropped down as well, his hand hitting the canvas 1...2...3. When his palm came down for the final time, the audience erupted into deafening cheers.

Elektra watched all of this as though in a dream. Her knees were shaking; she felt as though she was about to collapse again at any second. When Orton's body collided with the mat, she felt an enormous sense of relief, as though a huge weight had been lifted from her heart. For the very first time, she felt completely free of fear. She felt as though she could breathe again. It was finally over.

Batista got back to his feet, standing over the Legend Killer, breathing hard from the exertion. Snatching up the microphone, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, then lifted the mic to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but it held an implied threat: "This is the last time I'm going to tell you–keep your goddamn hands off my girlfriend." He threw the microphone back down, where it made an audible BOOM as it connected with canvas. He stared at Orton for a second or two, his face emotionless, then looked up and met Elektra's eyes.

This time, Elektra didn't freeze, didn't hesitate for even a second. Practically tripping over her own feet, she ran across the ring and threw herself into Batista's waiting arms. He embraced her tightly, pressing his mouth against her forehead, murmuring into her hair. Elektra clung to him, crying with happiness, never wanting to let go, lest he be taken from her again.

The fans were on their feet, clapping, stomping, screaming their lungs out. Batista pulled back, gently taking her face in both of his hands. With that familiar gesture she loved so much, he brushed away her tears with his thumb. He smiled, and she could see tears shining in his own eyes."I thought I lost you," he murmured.

Elektra hesitantly reached up and touched his cheek, resting her palm against his skin. Batista closed his eyes, groaning softly the moment her hand caressed his face. Elektra slowly pulled his head down until his nose brushed hers. "You never lost me," she whispered. "I love you... and I always will."

The moment she spoke those words, Batista tilted his head to the side, capturing her mouth with his. Elektra kissed him back, entwining her arms around his neck, moaning as his tongue slid into her mouth and met hers. Batista lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies melting together.

They kissed for a long while in the center of the ring, oblivious to everything except each other.

* * *

The water hit Orton full in the face, going up his nose, in his mouth, and driving him out of the sparkling blackness his mind had fled to after being hit with a spinebuster. Coughing and sputtering, he slowly opened his eyes, trying to ignore the pain surging through his limbs...and certain other lower extremities. His head in particular was throbbing. Orton reached up to massage his temples with both hands, trying to remember exactly had happened. Things had been going so _well_, and then suddenly, they had all gone to shit.

He wiped his nose, then winced as slivers of pain worked their way back up into his brain. He pulled his hand back. His fingers and knuckles were smeared with dark red. It would be some kind of small miracle if he didn't have a broken nose. Orton grimaced. When he got his hands on that ungrateful bitch–

"Hey, Randy, you awake?" The sound of Chris Jericho's voice made Orton realize that he wasn't alone. He looked up to see Y2J peering down at him, a Styrofoam cup in one hand. That would explain the water. The former Undisputed Champion stared at him with curiosity and amusement rather than concern. As though to further illustrate this, Jericho grinned. "Sorry about the rude awakening, but some of us aren't very..._patient_."

Orton was about to ask what others when Chris Benoit and Maven appeared from behind him at either side of his vision. They walked past Jericho and turned around, leaning against the wall. Orton noticed for the first time that he had no idea where the hell he was. He studied his surroundings, trying to block out the throbbing ache in his neck. The room had cement floors and walls, and its only distinguishing feature was rows and rows of shelves loaded with cleaning supplies and equipment. Orton himself was propped up in a folding chair. A single bare lightbulb burned above him, casting a weak pool of light all around the Legend Killer. Orton frowned. What in the world?...

It was as though Jericho could read his mind. "Let's just say that you're somewhere in the arena, far enough away that the rest of the Superstars won't hear you." Y2J glanced back at his compatriots, smiling again. "You see, after you went and got your ass whipped all over the ring by the Animal, the three of us came down and helped you backstage, just like friends are for." He leaned closer. "You were so out of it, you didn't even notice where we were taking you."

The Legend Killer quickly appraised the situation. It was not looking good for him, but he didn't have time for this shit right now. He would deal with these jackasses once he finished with Elektra and Batista. "Where's Elektra?" he demanded, clenching his fists so hard that the knuckles flushed white. "When I get ahold of that whore–"

"Elektra? She left, man," Jericho interrupted nonchalantly.

Orton's eyes almost popped out of his skull. "_What_?" he stammered, struggling to find words. "You can't be serious–"

"Oh, I am," Y2J replied calmly. "You see, since you were _so out of it_, I stepped up and gave her and Batista the night off. They've been through a lot tonight; besides, they looked like they were ready to get down to business...if you know what I mean."

Orton started to rise to his feet, hoping that his legs wouldn't give out on him. "Hold on... after what both of them did...you let them _leave_?" His eyes blazed with rage. "I'll fire that slut. I'll fire both of them–"

Jericho abruptly stepped forward and shoved Orton back down into the chair. "I'm only gonna say this once: _sit down and shut up_." The former Undisputed Champion's light tone had turned steely. The smile had disappeared. Orton looked from Jericho to Benoit and then to Maven. Neither one of them were smiling as well. Jericho continued as though nothing had happened. "No one is getting fired tonight...especially those two."

Orton stared at him, shocked. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have _any_ idea who you're talking to? I'm the fucking General Manager–"

Jericho sighed and turned to Benoit. "Chris, come over here and help me." Without saying a word, the Rabid Wolverine walked over and chopped Orton viciously in the chest. The Legend Killer uttered a small strangled noise and slumped forward, clutching his pectoral region. Benoit hauled him back up without ceremony. Jericho shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You see what happens when you don't listen?"

He bent down, lowering his voice. "Do you actually think that any of us really care about who you are or what you say?" He pulled back and then nailed Orton in the temple with a straight right hand. The Legend Killer almost fell out of the chair, but once again was pulled roughly back into place by an unsympathetic Chris Benoit. Jericho looked at him without pity. "You played us. You used us to screw up someone else's relationship, and why?. Because you can't fathom in that narrow little mind of yours that _one__girl_ on this planet doesn't want you. Elektra and the Animal... they're in love, Randy. Finding love in this business..._that's _rare, and you don't mess with it, not _ever_." Jericho crouched down, bringing himself face-to-face with the Legend Killer. "Now, unfortunately for you, we don't take kindly to being used. So we decided that you need to be taught a lesson. By the time we're done with you, the most you'll be able to do for the rest of the week is lie on your big expensive leather couch in your cushy office and pop painkillers." Y2J stood, and began to pace, gesturing as he talked. "If you go near Elektra or talk to her or–hell–so much as look at her twice, we have no qualms about _teaching_ you again. She's off-limits now, Randy, and if I were you, I'd start getting used to that."

Jericho stopped, and stared hard at Orton. "One more thing–if _somehow_, after this is over, you make a miraculous recovery and decide to go on a firing spree...go right ahead. Fire Elektra, fire Batista...fire the three of us for helping them. Big fucking deal: _we'll_ all go to SmackDown and have ourselves a big party, while _you_ get to explain to Bischoff why all his talent is suddenly on the other brand. Not to mention Triple H, who is going to be _pissed_ if you take away his cleanup man. Pull a stunt like that, and _you'll_ be the one looking for a job." Jericho held his finger up in the air, as though he had just remembered something. "Oh, and did I mention that next week is _my_ turn to be GM? And _believe me_, I've got something special planned for you." Y2J tapped his chin. "I'm thinking gauntlet match. I'm thinking one hand tied behind your back. And that's just _Monday night_. We've got at least four more shows to think about. But don't worry," He clapped the Legend Killer on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll live through it."

Orton started to speak, but Y2J cut him off. "See, I know that right now is the point in the conversation where you yell out something profound and defiant before we kick your ass. But to be perfectly honest...I really don't want to hear anything more from your mouth. Maven, tape." The former Tough Enough winner somehow magically produced a roll of duct tape from behind his back and tore off a strip. Benoit grabbed Orton's arms, restraining him as Jericho advanced with the long piece of tape.

"You _fuckers_!" Orton shouted. "You'll all pay for this! _I'm the Legend Killer_–" His words became nothing more than muffled shouts as Jericho slapped the tape over his mouth.

"And now you're just another asshole in a broom closet with duct tape over his mouth." the former Undisputed Champion finished. Cracking his knuckles, he nodded at Maven, and the two of them closed in on a now-powerless Legend Killer.


	30. Chapter 30: Face To Face

Chapter 30: Face To Face

Elektra covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter. "Oh God, can you imagine the look that's going to be on Randy's face when he wakes up and finds out that we're gone?"

Batista chuckled. "I have a feeling it'll be almost as priceless as his expression when you grabbed his nuts."

Elektra grimaced with disgust for a second. "Ugh! Don't remind me! It seemed like such a good idea at the time–but now I keep feeling like I need to disinfect my hand."

"Well, don't go all OCD on me," Batista replied. "I think three hand washes is enough, even for a piece of shit like Orton."

The two of them walked leisurely hand in hand down the hotel hallway toward Batista's room, suitcases in tow. Elektra still wore the pink satin corset and black miniskirt of her Diva persona; the Animal had changed into dress slacks and an Evolution t-shirt. Batista let go of her hand and affectionately wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaning down to kiss her cheek. It was a sweet innocent gesture, but the moment his lips touched her skin, Elektra's pulse began to race and heat rushed all the way down to her toes. Her soul had been lonely without Batista's presence...but her body was even more hungry for his touch.

No matter how you looked at it, three weeks was a _long_ time.

She stopped in mid-step, turning her head toward him. Her lips grazed his, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. Apparently, she was not alone in her feelings; she could feel the heat coming from the Animal's body in waves. For a few moments, they stood there, frozen, their mouths nearly touching, both of them suddenly finding it hard to breathe. They didn't speak; they didn't need to. They didn't need words to express how much they wanted each other.

"So..." Elektra managed to say. Her tongue seemed to be having difficulty forming words. Just standing this close to him, inhaling his scent, was driving her crazy. "Should we go in?" She immediately wanted to kick herself for sounding so stupid.

"Good idea," Batista answered. He, too, seemed to be having trouble talking. Taking her hand again, he led her down the few remaining feet to his door, their previously playful mood transformed into something darker and tinged with palpable desire. Batista entered the room first, setting his suitcase off to the side, and Elektra followed him. She had just set her suitcase down as well when he suddenly scooped her up off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder like a caveman.

Elektra let out a surprised shriek and couldn't stop laughing as Batista carried her in this fashion over to the bed. "Oh my God, Dave! Put me down! I'm gonna fall! I'm gonna fall–" The Animal stopped, and with both arms, lifted her down onto the bed with absolute gentleness. He climbed on top of her, straddling her body. Elektra's laughter faded, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the need in his eyes, the hunger that mirrored her own.

Batista touched her cheek, running his thumb across the full contours of her lips. "Not with me," he answered softly. "I'll never let you fall." Elektra parted her lips, allowing his thumb to slip into her mouth, where she caressed it with her tongue. With a soft growl of desire, Batista pulled his hand away, dipping his head down to kiss her passionately. For several minutes, all that could be heard were soft sighs and mouths meeting and parting as the two of them embraced each other. They let their hands explore, traveling under clothing to linger against bare skin, becoming reacquainted with familiar curves and contours. Finally, they pulled apart, both of them gasping for breath.

Batista was the first one to speak. "Now, this is one of the reasons I hate being on television." Elektra stretched languidly, waiting for him to elaborate. The Animal continued. "Like tonight, for example. I can _kiss_ you all I want to in the ring–" He leaned down to kiss her neck, his mouth burning against her skin. "But if I want to touch you, I constantly have to watch _where_ I put my hands."

To illustrate, he lightly laid his hand on her breast. "Now _this_...this I _might_ be able to get away with." he murmured. Elektra felt her insides clench. The form-fitting corset suddenly felt too tight, too constricting, and she wished desperately that she could tear it off, eliminating all barriers between Batista's hands and her body. Batista must have sensed her desire, but as though to torture her, he kept his movements slow, almost maddingly so. He let his fingers travel lightly across her breast, down her abdomen, over to the smooth curve of her hip. "This I could _probably_ get away with," His hand moved gently down her thigh, and without warning, his fingers brushed that most intimate of places, that source of pleasure between her legs. Elektra gasped, feeling a flood of wetness escape from her. Just like that, she was ready for him. Batista's mouth was against her ear. "_This_...would most likely get me fired." he whispered. He slid his hand into her underwear, and Elektra arched her back, moaning, as his fingers found her, stroking her with that teasing slowness. She could feel him smile. "Yep..._definitely_ would get me fired."

"Besides," Elektra gasped, struggling to think clearly. She groaned as he slid a finger inside her. "Oh _Jesus_!–Besides, it would give Orton –Oh, don't _stop_!–something to get off on–Oh my God!"

Batista kissed her ear, nibbling on her earlobe. "No doubt...but I don't want to talk about Orton. In fact," He brought his head back up, staring into her eyes. "I don't want to talk at all."

Elektra gazed back at him. "So then shut up and kiss me," she replied. Batista did just that, covering her mouth with his own.

They undressed each other slowly, peeling off their clothing with a kind of reverence. Every time he removed one of Elektra's garments, Batista stopped, taking the time to cover the newly exposed area of her body with kisses, teasing her with that tantalizing deliberateness. When they had finished, and the last article of clothing had fallen to the floor, Batista paused for a second or two, his eyes sweeping hungrily down the length of her body. Parting her legs with an expert hand, he plunged into her. Elektra cried out, arching her body off the bed, her fingernails digging into his back. Everything up until now had been slow, gentle, but now Batista's rhythm was like his in-ring persona: hard, raw, unrelenting. Grabbing her waist and thigh, he abruptly rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top.

Elektra felt his hips pressing against her, their bodies merged into that single perfect unit. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she moaned. She loved the feeling of him inside her, where even the smallest movement sent pleasure vibrating up her spine. Looking back down, she locked eyes with the Animal. His gaze bored into hers, he was practically panting for breath. Elektra squeezed her legs just a little tighter against his thighs, the muscles within them as solid as rock. She moved her hips forward, just a tiny movement. Nevertheless, she saw Batista's jaw clench, saw his head arch back as a pleasurable groan escaped from his throat. Elektra slid her hands up across his chiseled abdomen, his sculpted chest providing a textured roadmap for her fingers to explore. Staring into his eyes, she began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She rode him just as hard and relentlessly as he had her, making him feel her, the sensation of her surrounding him.

They climaxed together, Elektra practically screaming as she came, not really caring who heard. She felt woozy, her body too weak with pleasure to support itself. Everything around her had taken on a fuzzy dimness. She slowly rolled off Batista, curling up against him. With some effort, he turned onto his side, wrapping his arms around her. His nose was just touching hers. "God, I love you," he whispered fiercely. "Do you even know what you do to me?"

Elektra touched his face, running her fingers over his lips. She was still trying to catch her breath. "Dave," she whispered. "Everything–my body, my heart, my soul–belongs to you."

Batista didn't answer at first; just kissed her forehead and pulled her against him. Elektra buried her face in his neck. When the Animal spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. "No matter what happens after this...I'm yours. I always have been...and I always will be."

* * *

Trish Stratus leaned her head back against the cinderblock wall, half-closing her eyes and mentally blocking out the cheers of fans and the excited chatter of Superstars. It was a new edition of Monday Night Raw, and the entire locker room was in an uproar. After the conclusion of last week's World Title match left no clear winner, rumors had been swirling around as to who would be the World Heavyweight Champion. Or, more importantly, who Chris Jericho, as General Manager, would designate as World Heavyweight Champion. Luckily, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla was saved from having to make this potentially dangerous decision, thanks to a rare appearance by Vince McMahon, who ordered that the title was vacated until further notice.

Obviously, this did not sit well with the match's participants. Especially with the now former World Heavyweight Champion, Triple H.

But the World Title situation was the last thing on Trish's mind. She was too busy trying to simultaneously prepare for and ignore her Women's Championship match with Lita later that night. She hadn't spoken to the red-headed Diva since last week. The memory of Lita's words, of what she had done to Elektra out of _spite_, still sent a flood of rage through her body. Trish had done some shitty things in her career, but she couldn't fathom doing something like that. And to think, almost a year ago, they had been sitting around in a hotel room, laughing and talking. Almost a year ago, they had all been friends. Funny how things changed.

"Hey, girl!" Trish looked up to see Stacy Keibler approaching. The leggy Diva shifted her weight to one leg, leaning her shoulder against the wall, towering several inches above the Women's Champion. Her eyes were bright with excitement. "Have you heard the news about Randy?"

Trish forced a smile, trying to show interest when there really was none. If there was one person on her list that she hated more than Lita, it was the Legend Killer. As far as she was concerned, Orton had gotten exactly what he deserved last week. Nevertheless, she decided she might as well find out the dirt. "You mean other than the fact that he got the shit beaten out of him last week and has been skulking around here like the Elephant Man ever since?"

"Yeah, but did you hear about _who_ beat him up?" Stacy pressed, pushing her blond hair back from her face.

Trish shrugged. "I assumed it was Evolution. I mean, he _did_ try to embarrass one of their members."

Stacy shook her head. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Uh-uh. _His own teammates._"

Trish's mouth dropped open before she could stop herself. "Are you _serious_?" she hissed. "Maven, Benoit, Jericho..._they_ did that to him?"

Stacy nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Apparently, they didn't take too kindly to what Randy did to Batista and Elektra."

Trish shook her head briskly, blinking a few times. "_Wow_. Evolution's enemies backing up the Animal...and I thought that I had to go _home_ to be in Bizarro-World." She glanced back at Stacy. "So...why are you telling me this, anyway?"

Stacy lifted up one shoulder nonchalantly, feigning innocence. "_Nothing_."

Trish rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. I know that tone of voice. Whenever you say 'Nothing' like that, it always means that you're thinking of _something_. So out with it."

Stacy bit her lip hesitantly. "Well...I was just thinking...Jericho's more than redeemed himself for what he did...maybe you and him can get back together." Trish started to protest, but the other Diva cut her off. "There! You blushed when I said his name! I saw you!" She began swaying from side to side, her voice sing-song. "You still like him! You want to kiss him!"

Trish couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Shut up! You're like a little kid!" She slapped Stacy lightly on the arm. "Cut it out, Stace!" Both of them eventually fell silent. Trish's expression grew sober, and she shifted her Women's Championship to the opposite shoulder. "_Yes_, I still have feelings for him...but you should know by now that there's no chance of Chris and me getting back together."

"_Chris_?" Stacy teased lightly. Trish looked away, pursing her lips in semi-irritation at her own slip-up. Stacy went on. "If there's one thing that holds true in this business...it's never say never."

Trish glanced up and smiled suddenly, her attention captured by something further down the hall behind Stacy. "Ain't that the truth," she murmured, more to herself than to the other Diva. Stacy started to turn around, but Trish grabbed her arm. "No, no! Act casual! Don't let them know that we're watching."

"Who–" Stacy started to ask, but her question was answered as Batista and Elektra walked by. It wouldn't have mattered if she had been openly staring; the couple seemed to have eyes only for each other. The Animal held Elektra's hand in his, their fingers entwined, and as the two Divas watched, he lifted it up and pressed it to his lips.

"_Aww_..." Stacy sighed, her expression softening at the sight. "Now why can't I meet a guy like that?"

"Why can't _I_?" Trish repeated very quietly to herself, her thoughts drifting, unbidden, to Chris Jericho.

* * *

Elektra could feel Batista's gaze pressing against her. She turned and smiled at him. "What?"

"Nothing," the Animal answered, his mouth curving into a grin of his own. "Just can't get over how great you look tonight." He leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Though personally, I think you look even better with nothing on."

Elektra felt a searing blush spread from the roots of her hair down to her feet. "Keep saying things like that, and you'll make me trip." she joked. At that precise second, the toe of her boot caught under the leg of a stray folding chair, and she _did_ trip, the floor rushing toward her face at an alarming speed. Elektra shrieked and threw her arm in front of her face to break her fall somewhat. But the impact never came. Slowly, she opened her eyes and realized that Batista had his arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her up. She turned toward him, her mouth open.

Batista gently pulled her upright again, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Don't look so surprised," he whispered. "Didn't I say that I'd never let you fall?" He held her at arm's length, his eyes making a critical sweep of her body. "Are you all right?"

Elektra nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." she replied, but there was something in her eyes, a hint of stray emotion that told him otherwise.

Batista stared at her for a few seconds. "What's wrong?"

Elektra looked away. "It's-it's nothing. We should go." She started to walk away, but was pulled back by the Animal.

"It's not nothing," Batista answered quietly. "Come on, sit down." He carefully sat her down on the folding chair, kneeling in front of her. Elektra stared at her lap, twisting her hands together nervously. Batista reached over, tilting her chin up. He saw for the first time that there were tears in her eyes. "Hey," he murmured. "What's wrong, baby?"

Elektra looked down for a second or two, chewing on her lip, before gazing back at him. "You have to understand...this is the first time I've been anywhere _near _Hunter since Survivor Series. And I _know_ that things are different, that I'm with you, that you'll protect me...but–" She stopped, trying to hold back her emotions. "It's _hard_ for me to tell myself not to be afraid of him. I mean, he had me terrified of him for almost a year. He beat the shit out of me in the middle of a wrestling ring, and no one even stepped in to stop him. I can't just forget about what he did to me. And the worst part is–and I know this is completely irrational–I can't help thinking that he's not finished with me. That he's going to find some new way to punish me." Her lips began to tremble. A tear rolled down her cheek. "And I'm worried that he'll do that by hurting you." She reached over and stroked his cheek, before letting her hand fall back down in her lap. "I don't want you getting hurt because of me."

"Listen to me," Batista interrupted. He took her hands between both of his. "If Hunter does anything...he's the only person to blame; not me, and definitely not you." He stared hard into her eyes, his face taking on that intimidating expression. "And if he tries to touch you..._he'll_ be the one who gets the shit beaten out of him."

Elektra closed her eyes. "Be careful," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you again."

Batista reached up to grip the back of her neck, pulling her to him and silencing her with a brief intense kiss, one that curled her toes inside her boots. "Don't worry," he answered. "You won't lose me. _I promise_."

* * *

As they approached the Evolution locker room, Elektra could hear what sounded like a small tornado wreaking havoc within its walls. Triple H must be throwing a temper tantrum. She halted, hanging back reluctantly. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea–"

Batista tugged gently but insistently on her arm. "Come on, I _promise_, nothing is going to happen."

Elektra secretly thought otherwise, but nonetheless, she let the Animal open the door cautiously and pull her into the room.

The Game was indeed the source of the racket, obviously still pissed about the Chairman's decision. The room was in a shambles: suitcases overturned, monitor smashed, couch flipped over onto its back. Triple H paced back and forth, pushing his golden locks back from his face impatiently. Ric Flair jogged alongside him, trying to placate the outraged Cerebral Assassin. But from the livid expression on the Game's face, he was not going to be calmed down so easily.

As soon as Elektra saw Triple H, she turned around and tried to head back out the door. Batista quickly grabbed her hand and brought her back, pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms around her protectively. He leaned down and gently kissed her ear, before turning his attention to the Game.

"_Fuck_ Benoit and _fuck_ Edge!" Triple H shouted. "One of them got pinned, the other tapped out. Boom! They cancel each other out! That title is _mine_, Ric! It _belongs_ to _me_!"

"You're right, Champ, but you have to agree with what Vince said–" Flair interjected soothingly.

"Fuck Vince!" the Game roared. "And fuck Orton too! This is all _his_ fault anyway! Making it a Triple Threat match...just because he can't get a title shot of his own!" He looked over, noticing the Animal. Batista quickly maneuvered Elektra behind him, out of sight of Triple H. The former World Heavyweight Champion stormed over, jamming his finger right into the Animal's face. "And _you_! Where the hell were _you_ last night when I needed you? Oh, that's right. You were too busy letting the fucking Legend Killer make a fool out you in front of the whole world!" He brought his hands together in a slow clap. Never had applause sounded so sarcastic. "Way to go, Dave. Way to represent Evolution."

Elektra felt Batista's body tense, and knew that he was getting pissed off. "In case you didn't notice," the Animal replied, his voice belying only a hint of the anger he must be feeling. "I took Randy Orton _out_ last week."

But Triple H was on a roll by now. "Oh, sure, but not before he made you get down on your knees and practically beg for mercy. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked out there, a beast like you lying on your back, crying like a bitch...and for what? So he wouldn't fire that–" The Game stopped in mid-sentence, seeing Elektra for the first time. Elektra's heart leaped into her throat; all the color drained from her face. She reached for Batista's hand, grasping it with both of her own. The Animal was the only thing keeping her from passing out with fright. Never had she been so afraid to look into another man's eyes.

Triple H backed away, stroking his beard absently, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously soft. "What the _fuck_ is _she_ doing here?"

Across the room, Flair saw Batista start to move, and tried to ward off the incoming storm. "Hunter–" he began in a warning tone, but it was too late.

"No!" the Game interjected, pointing his finger at Elektra now. "What the _fuck_ is that _bitch_ doing in _my_ locker room?"

Elektra didn't even see Batista move; it was just like one moment, he was beside her, and the next, he was across the room. The Animal slammed a shocked Triple H into the shelves, pressing his massive forearm against the former World Heavyweight Champion's throat. The Cerebral Assassin gagged, his hands flailing. Elektra could only watch, frozen in place. She had never seen the Game dominated so completely before.

Batista didn't budge, and when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm...but filled with a deadly menace. "If you were anyone else, I'd have kicked your ass. But since you're my _mentor_ and my _leader_, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." There was only a trace of sarcasm in his tone. "Consider this your warning. If I _ever _ hear you say something like that again to her, I'll knock your fucking teeth down your throat." He jammed his face into the Game's, lowering his voice. "To be honest, I should have done it a month ago, but instead, I decided to believe your bullshit. Well, not anymore." He pulled back, allowing Triple H to catch a breath or two, before reasserting the pressure. "The only reason I'm even here is because I believe in Evolution...and because I respect the two of you, for whatever _that's _worth. But from now on, wherever _I _go–" He turned, and with his free hand, pointed at Elektra. "–_she_ goes. Understand? I don't _care_ if you don't like her, because I _love_ her, and _that's_ what matters to me. She is more important to me than the two of you put together, so if you can't treat her with respect, then I'm outta here." The Animal stuck his face back into Triple H's. "And let me make one thing absolutely clear...if you put so much as a hand on her again, I'll kill you."

Batista finally pulled his arm away and the Game immediately drew in a big gulp of oxygen, massaging his throat. The Animal threw a friendly arm around Triple H's shoulders, but there was nothing friendly about the way his fingers dug into the Game's bicep. "Now, apologize to Elektra."

Triple H glanced at Batista incredulously, as though the Animal had just asked him to walk on water. "Are you kidding? Apologize? To _her_? Dave, if this is a joke–"

Batista squeezed and the Cerebral Assassin winced in pain. "Apologize _now_ or I'm leaving." the Animal said calmly, with only the faintest hint of a threat in his voice.

The Game looked over at Elektra, and she almost took a step back when she saw the fiery hatred in his eyes. If Batista hadn't been right there, she would have run screaming from the room. Instead, she stood there, knees locked, and tried not to throw up.

"I'm _sorry_," Triple H growled, his tone implying the exact opposite. Batista's fingers sank in just a little bit deeper, and the Game yelped. "Ow! Motherfu– And it won't happen again! Jesus Christ, would you let go of me?"

Batista released his grip, letting his arm fall back down to his side. "Now, was that so hard?" he remarked, sounding amused. Walking back to Elektra, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leading her out of the room.

Triple H clutched his bruised arm, gritting his teeth in pain. "You disappoint me, Dave," he called out, his voice bitter. "You used to be the Animal...but now you're completely pussy-whipped!"

If Batista heard the comment, he didn't respond. The Game slowly sank down onto an adjacent bench, ignoring the hovering form of Flair, his attention still fixed on the doorway and the now-absent figures of Batista and Elektra. "This isn't over," he muttered. "For _either_ of you."


	31. Chapter 31: Make It Stop

**Author's Note: I realized that I have not given a shout-out to my utterly awesome reviewers in a while. You people are the best, especially since I seem to be lazy as crap when it comes to posting new chapters. I truly cannot thank you enough for taking the time to read and review my story. Give yourselves a hand!**

* * *

Chapter 31: Make It Stop

As soon as Batista pulled Elektra out into the corridor, he felt her slump against him, her whole body shaking. Quickly, without saying anything, he wrapped his arm more securely around her waist and helped her down the hallway. Up ahead was the men's restroom. Ignoring the gender requirement printed on the door, Batista pushed it open with his free hand and tugged Elektra inside. They had walked only a few steps before Elektra extricated herself from his grasp and dashed into the nearest stall, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. She dropped to her knees and Batista heard her retch.

He slowly walked over to the stall, resting one hand on the top of its wall, helpless to do anything but wait and listen. The sounds of vomiting eventually ceased, followed by a toilet flush, and Elektra staggered back out, her face a sickly greenish-white. She made it to the sink, lurching a little bit and grabbing onto the porcelain basin for support. With some effort, she washed her hands, then collected some water in her cupped palms, sipping it and spitting it back into the sink. She repeated this ritual a few more times before turning the water off, staring down at the glowing white bowl below her.

Batista shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, uncertain of what to do or how to help her. But then he saw her body begin to fold inward on itself, and realized that she was crying. Crossing the short distance between them, he pulled her to him, enfolding her in his arms. At first, Elektra didn't react; merely leaned back against him like dead weight. Then, hesitantly, she twisted herself around to face him, clutching his arm with both hands and burying her face in his bicep. The sobs that had been so soundless before now burst from her in great hoarse gasps of emotion. Batista gently stroked her hair with his free hand, feeling her tears stream down his arm.

The door opened, and the Animal looked up sharply, locking eyes with a surprised Christian. Captain Charisma looked from Batista to Elektra, his brow creasing in confusion. This was obviously the last thing he expected to find in the men's restroom.

"_We're busy_." the Animal growled, holding onto Elektra protectively and glaring at the Creepy Little Bastard.

"But this is an emergency!" Christian protested.

Batista didn't answer this time; merely let his expression morph from a glare into something cold and unreadable. Christian opened his mouth to add something, thought better of it, and exited the way he came. Batista turned his attention back to Elektra, his features softening once again. Elektra's crying had stopped, but she still held onto his arm like a lifeline. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her; her voice was barely a whisper. "All these weeks, I've been telling myself that there's no reason to be afraid of him. But standing in that room just now, looking him in the eye...was the hardest thing I've ever done." She pulled back, staring up at the Animal. "When I looked at him, it was like being in a nightmare. I couldn't _move_, I couldn't even _speak_." She stopped, trying to collect herself enough to express her feelings. "And if you hadn't been there, he would have killed me. Period." This last statement was uttered in a dull voice, almost resigned. Elektra wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She didn't look at Batista as she spoke. "I was stupid to think that it would be over. It's _not_ over. It'll _never_ be over until he says so. He'll just keep torturing me and punishing me and it'll never stop–" Her voice cracked with emotion.

"Then I'll _make_ it stop," Batista answered, cutting her off. "I'm sick of standing by and watching that son of a bitch mind-fuck you. It's time somebody stopped this–and it might as well be me." Something dark and ugly passed over his face at the thought of Triple H. He looked back down at Elektra. "I won't let him hurt you again."

"Please, Dave," Elektra pleaded. "You don't know him–"

"Maybe _he_ doesn't know _me_!" Batista interrupted harshly. He hadn't meant to sound so caustic, and when he saw her face crumble, he instantly regretted it. The anger disappeared from his features, tenderness taking its place. He gently embraced her again. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Elektra interjected softly. "You're right...you're right." She pressed her face against his chest, her voice muffled. "God, why do you even put up with me? I'm just a damaged, neurotic..._mess_."

Batista chuckled, gently running his fingers through her hair. "Do you really have to ask a question like that?" he remarked. Pulling her back, he held her face in both of his hands. "I _love_ you. That's all there is to it." His expression grew serious. "And don't you _ever_ say that about yourself again. You're not damaged. There are guys out in that locker room who brag about how tough they are, but who would run and hide if they experienced even half of what you've been through." Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. "You are one of the strongest people that I've ever known." he whispered into her hair.

He hear her breath catch for an instant. "Then why–" She struggled to find the words. "Why am I still afraid of him?"

Batista didn't know how to answer her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to face the mirror again. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gazed at their reflections, his eyes never leaving hers. "I promise," he murmured into her ear. "I'll make him pay for what he did to you."

* * *

Elektra held onto Batista's arm for support as they walked back to the Evolution locker room. The Animal kept himself calm, but inwardly, he was seething with rage. What Triple H had done to Elektra...it went far beyond control. This...this was just sick. No matter how far she tried to run, there was always this invisible chain connecting her to the Game. And as long as it existed, he would always be able to torment her. Batista gritted his teeth. As far as he was concerned, it was going to stop.

He put his hand on the door, pushing it open slightly. As he did so, he caught a fragment of the conversation taking place inside. At first, he thought that Triple H was talking to Flair, but after a few seconds, he realized that the Game was on his cell phone, either giving someone the third degree or leaving a voice mail to the same effect.

Turning to Elektra, he motioned silently for her to stay put. The relief was evident on her face. Easing his body into the room, Batista quietly approached the Game, who was too busy yelling into his cell to notice.

"...I'm telling you, Eric, when you come back next week, your first order of business had better be to walk out to that ring and hand me the World Heavyweight Title." Triple H paused, either for breath or emphasis. His voice took on a threatening tone. "And if you don't–"

Batista sighed, rolling his eyes. Great, just _great_. Dealing with the Game was going to have to wait. Right now, he had to make sure that Triple H didn't get himself fired. At any other time, he would have been amused. Imagine, the _Animal_ acting as the peacekeeper. But now, after what had happened regarding Triple H, Elektra and himself, he was just irritated and more than a little pissed off. Before the Game could finish the sentence, Batista stepped next to him and snatched the cell phone out of his hand, closing it up and ending the call. Triple H stared at him, open-mouthed. "What the fuck...what are you _doing_?"

"Keeping you from making a big mistake," the Animal answered quietly.

Triple H laughed, a harsh bitter bark. "Oh, so now _you're_ making the decisions around here. You think just because you're fucking _her_ that you should be the leader?"

"I'm not _trying_ to be anything," Batista replied, sounding piqued. "I just don't think it's a good idea to piss off the man who controls your professional career."

The Game laughed again. "How many times do I have to tell you, Dave--I didn't bring you into Evolution to _think_." He moved closer to Batista, jamming his large nose right into the Animal's face. "But since you're suddenly the big intellect around here, let me ask you a question--you think I don't _deserve_ the World Heavyweight Title?"

"Hey," Batista interrupted. "As far as I'm concerned, there's only _one_ World Champion, and I'll be tag-teaming with him in just a few minutes." He moved back a little, clapping the Game on the shoulder, his face easing itself into a smile. "C'mon, Champ. Let's go show Benoit and Jericho who's boss."

Triple H stared at him for a few second, a strange mixture of emotions fighting for dominance on his face. Finally, his features twisted back into a snarl. "_Fine_. I'll see you out there." Batista turned to leave, but the Game wasn't finished. "Oh, and Dave?" The Animal glanced back. Triple H's eyes flicked over toward the doorway, then back. "Make sure that you _and _her _stay_ _out of my way_."

* * *

The crowd's boos filled the arena as Evolution's music hit and all four members walked out: Triple H first, then Batista, holding hands with Elektra, and Flair bringing up the rear. Elektra kept her eyes to the front, but inside, marveled at how quickly the fans' perceptions of her had changed. Last week, they had been cheering on both her and Batista. Now, seven short days later, they were lumping her back in with the evil empire of Evolution. But this time, Elektra really didn't care. For the first time since coming to the WWE, she was walking out to that ring with a man that she loved, without having to hide it. The audience could boo her all they wanted; they had no clue of the struggles both she and Batista had endured to be with one another.

The Game looked from one side of the arena to the other, his expression becoming even angrier. He glanced toward the ring, and focused his gaze on its two occupants: Benoit, who had helped Triple H lose the title, and Jericho, who had refused to step in as GM and do anything about it. Elektra saw the Game clench his water bottle just a little bit tighter, heard the flimsy plastic crack as drops of water pooled onto the floor. She held onto Batista's hand, and felt him squeeze hers reassuringly. She heard Lillian Garcia's voice rising above the jeers of the arena: "And representing Evolution..._Batista_...and the _former_ World Heavyweight Champion..._Triple H_!"

"That fucking bitch!" the Game exclaimed through gritted teeth. He suddenly broke away from the group, running toward the ring and sliding under the ropes. Lillian shrieked and dropped her microphone, realizing that _she _was the intended target of Triple H's rage. The Game grabbed for her, but the Raw ring announcer managed to slip out of the ring and over the security barrier unharmed. Triple H climbed up to the second rope, his eyes following Lillian's retreat. "I'll deal with _you_ later." he muttered to no one in particular.

The Game's brief chase brought momentary confusion to the rest of Evolution, but Batista was the one to move the group forward again, climbing up the steel steps and easing his body through the ropes. He turned around to extend his hand to Elektra, who followed suit. The Animal didn't head to the ring corners to do his usual posing; thanks to Triple H's erratic behavior so far. He instead stood by Elektra, putting his arm around her shoulders. On the outside, Flair rolled his eyes at this display of affection.

Elektra glanced over at the opposite corner, at the two Superstars leaning against the ropes. As she watched, both Benoit and Jericho locked eyes with her. Jericho gave her a quick wink, while Benoit nodded curtly. Elektra almost smiled before she remembered to check herself and stay in character. Regardless of what would go down in this ring in a few minutes, those two guys on the other side of the canvas had her back. She found herself remembering what Jericho had said to Batista, right before they had left for the hotel last week. _A long time ago, I had what you have...and I totally blew it.__ Don't make the same mistake that I did, Dave. Don't let her get away._ Elektra found herself wondering if Trish even knew what Jericho had done for her and Batista.

The lights came back up and Elektra immediately pulled herself back to the present. She turned to Batista, who bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. Elektra smiled, easing away from him reluctantly, and sliding under the ropes to the outside of the ring. Batista turned back toward the ring to see Triple H staring at him in disgust. Without saying a word, the Game pointed to the turnbuckle post, indicating that the Animal would not be starting the match-up. Batista tensed for a second or two, but rather than create yet another confrontation, he stepped outside the rope and grabbed hold of the tag rope.

The bell rang and Triple H and Benoit quickly locked up in the center of the ring. The Game used his size and strength to back Benoit into a corner, but the Rabid Wolverine fought back with a series of chops. Each one made contact with a cringe-worthy SMACK. Benoit forced Triple H into the opposite corner, then tagged in Jericho.

Y2J entered the ring, launching his body upward into a dropkick, catching the Game in the face and knocking him back against the turnbuckle post. Triple H slumped to his knees, trying desperately to return to his corner. Jericho tagged in his partner and Benoit quickly halted the Game's flight, pulling him up, grabbing a handful of tights and vaulting him over his shoulder with a snap suplex. As soon as Triple H hit the mat, Benoit was on him, trying to cinch in the Crippler Crossface, but Batista quickly jumped down to the floor and grabbed his partner's ankle, pulling him out of the ring. The Game reentered the squared circle, locking up with Benoit again. This time, the Rabid Wolverine was able to force Triple H back into his own corner, where he got the tag. Jericho then grabbed the Game's arm, Irish-whipping him over toward the other side of the ring. Triple H hit the ropes with too much momentum, and tumbled backward onto the floor.

Flair was livid, stalking the length of the ring, tearing off his jacket and hurling it onto the floor. Elektra paced back and forth too, pounding on the canvas and yelling encouragement, but secretly, she was enjoying this. After what had transpired in the locker room, nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see Triple H get his ass kicked tonight.

Batista slammed his hand against the ring post, roaring at the Game. "Come on, Hunter! Get up!" He glanced back at the ring to see both Benoit and Jericho staring at him. Simultaneously, they executed perfect dropkicks, catching him in the chest. The Animal fell back, hitting the barricade and sliding down to the floor.

Elektra shrieked wordlessly, clapping both hands over her mouth. Without thinking, she ran around the ring, kneeling down by Batista. The Animal pulled himself back up with some effort, groaning as he clutched the back of his head. He turned to Elektra. "What're you doing over here?" he asked through clenched teeth. "Get back before you get hurt."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was suddenly struck by a falling Triple H. Both men hit the floor again. Elektra scrambled backward, climbing onto the steel steps and out of the way. She beat on the ring apron with her fist. "Get up, Dave! Come on!" she screamed.

Inside the ring, referee Mike Chioda was beginning his count. He was up to four when Flair magically appeared right beside Elektra, yelling something about Chioda's officiating skills . It worked; the ref began arguing with the Nature Boy, too distracted to see Batista slip inside the ring and slam Jericho onto the mat with a huge spinebuster. The Animal exited just as stealthily as he had entered, allowing Triple H to climb in as the legal man and apply an abdominal stretch. Y2J yelped in pain, but refused to forfeit. Releasing the hold, the Game laid into Jericho with some hard rights, before choking him out on the bottom rope.

Chioda immediately stepped in, admonishing Triple H. The Game held up his hands, smiling about as innocently as he was capable of. While the ref's back was turned, Flair looped his jacket around Y2J's neck, turning the garment into a temporary noose. However, the jacket was gone and Flair was some five feet away by the time the referee turned back around.

Triple H pulled the dazed former Undisputed Champion to his feet, only to send him back down to the mat with a vicious neckbreaker. He went for the cover, but Benoit stepped in, breaking it up. The Game got to his feet, the confident smirk gone. He tagged in the Animal, and Batista went right to work, driving Jericho into the corner, and working him over with his boot. Y2J fought back, nailing the Animal with a flurry of chops worthy of the Nature Boy, but Batista responded with a massive clothsline, throwing Jericho back into the corner. He went for a second, but this time, Jericho was able to squirm out of the way, working his feet between the Animal's ankles and tripping him with a drop-toe-hold. Batista hit the turnbuckle post face-first. Outside the ring, Elektra cringed, pressing her hand to her mouth. Holding his jaw with one hand, Batista staggered over to his corner, tagging in Triple H, while Jericho managed to tag in Benoit.

The Rabid Wolverine had switched to his special fifth gear, where, with the right momentum, he could become almost unstoppable. He flew back and forth across the ring, knocking the Game down with shoulder block after shoulder block. Batista tried to step in, but Jericho was out of his corner, running across the canvas, and jumping on the ropes to hit the Animal with a springboard dropkick. Meanwhile, Benoit left Triple H momentarily to take out Flair with a baseball slide.

Before the Game had a chance to recover, however, the Rabid Wolverine nailed him with three big German suplexes. Jericho ran in again, hitting the Lionsault; dashing back out before the referee could disqualify him. Benoit looked from one side of the arena to the other, then drew his thumb across his throat in the familiar slashing motion, indicating that the end was near. Without wasting motion, he climbed up on the turnbuckle, and stretching his arms out, fell toward the Game, his head connecting with Triple H's midsection. Both men writhed in pain from the impact, but Benoit wasn't done. He clasped his arms around the Game's head, cinching him in the Crippler Crossface once again, while Jericho entered the ring and locked the lower half of Triple H's body in the Walls of Jericho. Elektra could hear the Game screaming from her vantage point at the other side of the ring. The fans were on their feet; they had never seen anything so awesome. The referee clearly didn't know what to do; he finally began his five-count, trying to at least get one wrestler out of the ring.

It proved to be unnecessary; Batista recovered sufficiently to climb in and break up both submission holds. Scooping Benoit up effortlessly, he slammed him down with another huge spinebuster, almost tearing the Rabid Wolverine in half. Turning his attention on Jericho, he drove the Fozzy frontman into the corner, choking him with the sole of his boot.

Elektra's attention, as always, was on Batista, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Triple H roll out of the ring. On the outside, he began yelling and gesturing angrily at one of the technicians. Elektra wondered what he was doing, but then heard the unmistakable sound of metal slamming against metal, and saw the Game lift a steel chair up into the air. Climbing up onto the apron, he eased himself through the ropes, clutching the chair in both hands. The look on his face was murderous. The referee couldn't see him; he was too busy trying to get Batista out of the corner. Flair was still dazed outside the ring. Only Elektra and the fans saw Triple H advance toward Benoit, bringing the chair backward, preparing to swing.

In that moment, Elektra forgot the role she was supposed to play in Evolution; her concern was for Benoit. "Look out!" she screamed, pointing toward the Game. Benoit heard her and turned...only to be hit full in the face with the steel chair. The Rabid Wolverine hit the mat with a dull THUD, thrashing around and clutching his face. Chioda heard the impact of metal meeting bone, and turning around, saw Triple H standing over the fallen Benoit, the guilty instrument still in his hand. The referee's frown deepened, and he immediately motioned for the bell, calling for a disqualification. The fans practically exploded out of their seats, booing and jeering. Even though he had lost, though, the Game's expression didn't change. For a moment, he didn't move, then without warning, he turned and slammed the chair against the back of Chioda's skull. The referee dropped to the canvas like a sack of potatoes.

Elektra backed up, crouching by the steel steps and trying to hide as much as possible. Her stomach clenched with fear. She could not remember the last time she had see Triple H lose it like this in the ring. If he was willing to lose by DQ and knock out a referee, what else was he capable of doing on this night?

Luckily, the Game didn't seem to notice her. Instead, he barked instructions at Batista, ordering him to pull Jericho to his feet. The Animal looked more than a little pissed at having lost the match, but he did as Triple H asked, hauling Y2J up and restraining his arms. Like a baseball player at bat, the Game pulled the chair back again, then swung it toward Jericho with all of his strength. Jericho brought his head up, saw the metal seat hurdling toward him, and at the very last second, managed to twist himself free and out of the way. Instead of hitting Y2J, the back of the chair caught Batista full in the face, and he was knocked down onto his back, his head bouncing sickningly off the canvas. For a moment or two, he didn't move.

Elektra felt her heart stop. "_Dave_!" she screamed frantically. There was no response. Without hesitating, she slid under the bottom rope, half-running, half-crawling over to the Animal. She reached his side and fell to her knees, touching his face gently. "Dave, can you hear me?" she asked frantically.

Batista slowly opened his eyes, pressing one hand to his forehead. "Ow." he muttered. Elektra felt her body sag with relief as she released the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Batista placed his hand over hers, and gingerly eased himself up onto his elbows.

A shadow fell over them. Elektra slowly turned, dread flooding her body, and looked up to see Triple H standing over her, staring down at her with absolute loathing. Just behind him, Chris Jericho lay in a crumpled heap on the mat. Apparently, no one could dodge two chair shots in one night. There was nothing in the Game's face, but in his eyes...Elektra finally understood what they meant when they said "If looks could kill". She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a soft mewling sound. She hesitantly raised her hand up toward her face, as though she could block a chair shot with her forearm. "Don't..." she managed to whisper. Triple H's features morphed into a grimace of hatred, and with a snarl, he brought the chair up with both hands over his head. There was no mistaking his intent; he was going to hit her. A scream of terror finally tore loose from her lips, and she threw both arms across her face to shield herself, however unsuccessfully, from the blow.

In a flash, Batista was on his knees, his arms around her, his body placed firmly between her and the Game. Flair was in the ring now too, trying to tug the chair out of Triple H's grip. "Hunter, have you lost your _mind_?" he demanded. "Put it down! _Put it down_!"

After a second or two, the Game eventually lowered the chair and threw it toward the opposite corner. He looked from Flair to Batista, his expression a mixture of outrage and disbelief. "It was an accident," he finally said, though whether he was talking to them or to himself, no one knew. "It was an accident." His eyes finally settled on Batista. The Animal stared back at the Game, confusion and anger marring his features. He still held Elektra against him protectively. The grey-eyed Diva hung onto his neck, practically crying with fear.

Flair jabbed Triple H in the chest with his index finger. "What the hell were you thinking, Hunter?" he demanded hotly. The Game stared at him with a dull look in his eyes, as though he was having trouble processing information. For once, however, Flair didn't seem to care about Triple H's state of mind. "Huh? Chasing Lillian Garcia...swinging a chair at a _woman_...what the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"It was an accident," Triple H repeated, still staring at Batista. He took a step toward the Animal, who responded by wrapping his arms tighter around Elektra. "I'm sorry," The apology was so unexpected, so uncharacteristic of the Game that Batista thought he must have heard wrong. "I'm sorry," Triple H reiterated, a little louder this time. He finally tore his gaze from the Animal, and without saying anything else, walked over to the ropes and stepped through them onto the apron. Dropping down to the floor, he began walking up the ramp, never once casting a backward glance at the ring.

Flair walked over, and with Elektra's help, pulled Batista to his feet. The three of them remained in the ring, surrounded by bodies, staring at the retreating form of the Game. The two men had confusion written across their faces, still trying to come to terms with Triple H's actions. Only Elektra, leaning against Batista, knew the truth.

Stephanie McMahon had once predicted that she would start a war, and over the past month, she had been at the center of some explosive situations, with victories achieved on both sides. But now, after seeing the hatred in Triple H's eyes, Elektra knew that the war's decisive battle had finally begun.


	32. Chapter 32: Friend Or Foe

Chapter 32: Friend Or Foe

With quick, precise steps, Elektra paced the length of the hotel room. She absently twisted a strand of dark hair around her finger, focusing on a point near the floor that only she could see. She had removed her high-heeled boots, but other than that, she had not even bothered to change.

Batista watched her without speaking, gingerly massaging his forehead. He winced as his fingers located the small knot of pain, the result of Triple H's 'accidental' chair shot. At least, he _thought_ it was accidental. On any other night, he would have shrugged it off as no big deal, but after tonight's match and the events preceding it...he wasn't sure about anything anymore. One thing he _did_ know for certain: Triple H was losing it, big time.

As though she could somehow sense his pain, Elektra came to a halt and looked over at him. A flash of hurt crossed her features. Her silver eyes filled with tears. "This is all my fault..." she murmured, blinking quickly and glancing away.

"Baby," Batista interjected. "I'm _fine_. Believe me, I've been hit over the head more than once in my life, and with worse. Besides–I didn't see _you_ swinging that chair right at my face."

Elektra didn't seem to hear; she continued her restless march, pressing her fist to her mouth. "It's starting..." was all she said.

Batista got to his feet, ignoring his lingering headache. Walking over to Elektra, he caught her in his embrace before she could complete another circuit of the room. "Okay, _stop_," he commanded. "Come over here and sit down before you make yourself sick." He pulled her over to the bed, gently pushing her down into a sitting position before taking a seat beside her. "Why are you blaming yourself for this?" he asked. He put his hand on her shoulder, trailing his fingers across her skin to caress her neck. "What do you mean, 'it's starting'?"

Elektra finally looked up, her grey eyes filled with dread and turmoil. She took a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you back at the Royal Rumble? About why we couldn't be together?"

Batista paused for a few seconds as he recollected. "You said that if you left Hunter, everything would end for him."

"Not just if I left him..._if I left him for you_." Elektra replied, stressing the last six words. She reached over and touched his cheek. "I knew it back then and I know it right now–he's threatened by you."

Batista shook his head as he digested this new piece of information. "I don't get it. Why would he be threatened by me? I mean, I know things got tense in the locker room today, but..." He trailed off, trying to articulate his point. "He's a nine-time World Heavyweight Champion...and I've never even had a title shot."

"And why do you think that is?" Elektra interrupted. She inched closer, pulling her legs up under her, turning her body to face Batista's.

"I'm not ready–" Batista tried to explain.

"Is that what _Hunter_ told you?" Elektra's voice was quiet, but forceful nonetheless. Batista didn't answer, but his jaw tightened, and she knew that she had struck a nerve. She continued, knowing that she had to let him know the truth, regardless of how much it might anger him. "Have you taken a look in the mirror lately, Dave? You're bigger, you're stronger, and you've spent the last year and a half learning from the best in this business. Hunter brought you into Evolution because you have potential–but deep down, he always knew, _always knew_, that you have the potential to be better than he is."

Batista's face was starting to turn red. His huge fists were clenching and unclenching in his lap. Quickly, Elektra reached over and took one of his hands in both of hers. Lifting it up, she pressed her lips to his knuckles, then turned her head, resting his palm against her cheek. As soon as she did so, she felt the tension drain from him. Letting go, she scooted toward him and slipped onto his lap, straddling his legs with hers. Batista put his arms around her waist, sliding his hands slowly up her back as he pulled her closer. Elektra wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her mouth was next to his ear.

"Listen to me," she whispered. "Hunter made a mistake with Randy–one that he's _still _paying for. He brought him up too soon, and look what happened. You and I, we're not stupid... we both know what the _real_ purpose of Evolution is. The first opportunity Hunter gets, he's going to use you to get back the title, and then he's going to make sure that you _never_ challenge him for it. Because he knows–we all know–that if you decide to go for the World Heavyweight Championship, not even the Game will be able to stop you." She pulled back, her nose grazing his. "Believe me, Hunter's worst fear is that you'll find out that you _are_ better than he is."

"So how do you fit into all this?" Batista asked, a little abruptly. He hadn't intended to sound so terse, but this was a lot of information to process all at once. "You said a few minutes ago that what happened tonight was your fault. How are you possibly to blame for what's happened?"

"_Because__I fell in love with__you_," Elektra shot back. Her face softened. "And that's something Hunter has never been able to understand. Like you said, he's a nine-time World Champion...but I still chose you over him...and that knowledge eats him up inside." She shook her head. "Triple H never cared about me; it was always about what I _represented_. To him, I was just another symbol of how powerful he was; this beautiful Diva hanging on his arm and sharing his bed. But I turned it down; I threw it all back in his face because I wanted to be with you. Hunter only thinks in terms of title gold and championship reigns; he doesn't understand love."

She pulled back a little more, gazing into Batista's eyes, into their rich brown depths. "Don't you get it? I started something that was never supposed to happen. I forced Hunter to realize that his biggest threat is _right inside Evolution_. Sure, maybe it was always inevitable. But it doesn't change the fact that there is a war brewing right now and it's because of me. It doesn't change the fact that you've already taken something from Triple H." She lowered her voice. "And if the Animal can steal the Game's girl right out from under his nose...then what else is he capable of taking?"

* * *

Triple H sat alone in the darkened room. He had pushed the armchair into the corner, away from the weak pools of light cast by the parking lot lamps. To use the term 'vampire' to describe anyone else would have provoked a laugh, but with Triple H, the nickname was somehow frighteningly accurate. In reality, the room was deathly silent. But inside the Game's mind, that reality was overwhelmed by a sensory overload of light, noise, and above all, emotion.

Triple H had taught himself a long time ago to file away any unnecessary emotions, both in the ring and in life. Emotion could make you lose championships and, if you weren't careful, everything else. His marriage to Stephanie had been proof enough of that.

In fact, there was only one emotion that the Game allowed himself to feel during a match, and that was hate. Detractors of hatred were always quick to say that hatred only clouded things and made them worse, but that was a lie. Hate was Triple H's friend. It was cleansing, purifying and it burned away all those pesky little gray areas, leaving him with black and white. Because, when you got right down to it, in the ring, there was only black and white. The Game couldn't waste time making those irritating distinctions between friend and foe. If he had, he wouldn't be World Heavyweight Champion.

Triple H gritted his teeth. _Former_ World Heavyweight Champion.

Sitting in the dark, elbows propped up on knees, hands clasped under chin, the Game allowed those mental barriers in his mind to open up, allowed those unwanted emotions to surge through his body. He took a deep breath, as though he could somehow inhale anger and rage like a heady drug. So many things were pissing him off right now, but the two situations giving him the most grief, the two that dug their claws into the forefront of his consciousness and refused to let go, were the World Heavyweight Championship...and Elektra.

More than three hours after the fact, he was still livid over the Chairman's decision to vacate the title. Okay, technically, he hadn't _won_ the title last week...but he hadn't _lost_ it, either. He'd just happened to be on the wrong side of the security barricade, while inside the ring, Chris Benoit and Edge had used their newfound opportunity to completely fuck up the match. In instances where there was a tie, the title _always_ went back to the man who walked in with the belt. But _no_, Vincent fucking McMahon had to choose this moment to show the world just how big a pair of grapefruits he had. Triple H could still picture the Chairman standing in the ring, holding up the title belt just out of reach, as if to say: "You were good, but just not good enough."

Who the hell did Vince think he was? He was _the Game_. He _was_ that damn good.

And then, if that in-ring humiliation wasn't bad enough, he'd returned to the locker room only to come face-to-face with _her_. Even now, Triple H's hands unconsciously balled into fists at the mere thought of Elektra. After Survivor Series, he'd convinced himself that he'd finally seen the last of that little whore. But once again, she'd managed to prove him wrong, in that subtle way of hers that never failed to annoy him. And now, she was sinking her harpy-like talons into Dave, slowly turning the Animal against him...if she hadn't already.

The Game wasn't stupid; he'd never harbored any delusions about the nature of Elektra's feelings for him. From the beginning, he'd known that she was using him, that she didn't love him, and–as time went on–that she hated him. But he'd always figured that her fear–fear of what he would do to her if she ever betrayed him–was enough incentive to prevent her from cheating. Unfortunately, Elektra had once again proved his assumptions to be false, when she uttered those four little words that changed everything.

_I slept with Batista..._

It didn't matter how much time had passed; Triple H could still picture her perfectly, standing unsteadily in the center of the ring, blood trickling down her face, eyes full of a fiery defiance and hatred that stunned even him. The Game still didn't know which one of her revelations angered him more: the fact that she'd been sleeping with Dave Batista, or that it had been going on for _so__long_, right in front of his face.

Now that he thought about it, he couldn't believe that he hadn't seen the signs sooner. After all, Elektra and Batista had always been unusually close...and Triple H had done nothing except aid that closeness by designating the Animal as her bodyguard following her run-in with Orton. But to be shown up like that in the middle of an arena, to be embarrassed in front of the whole world...that was what enraged the Game the most. Imagine, the great Triple H unable to even control one lousy woman. And then to find out that the entire locker room had known the whole time–hell, even _Flair_ had known about them–and were laughing at him behind his back...well, _he_ thought he'd responded appropriately.

Elektra hadn't just humiliated him; she'd undermined the authority he'd worked so hard to maintain. In Triple H's opinion, she'd gotten exactly what a two-timing thundercunt like her deserved.

When Batista had power-bombed Elektra onto the canvas, the Cerebral Assassin couldn't have been more ecstatic. He'd been so pleased that he hadn't even bothered to reprimand the Animal for his betrayal. Better for Dave to learn the hard way: women were nothing but trouble, and if you let them get too close, they would only destroy you. Bringing Elektra into Evolution had been a mistake; he knew that now. Hopefully, he would be able to repair some of the damage she had caused and get the Animal back on track. Batista's attention needed to be on one thing, and one thing only: keeping the World Heavyweight Championship on the Game's shoulder.

But apparently, he'd underestimated the depth of Batista's fascination with Elektra, as evidenced by the way the Animal had strolled into the locker room with her on his arm. From the look on his face, Triple H could tell that Dave was completely in love with the bitch. She must have already gotten in his ear, because there was no way Batista would have asserted himself like that if she didn't have something to do with it. The Animal had more or less implied that _he_ was the one calling the shots now...and when the Game had merely tried to express his opinion, Batista had gone ballistic. Triple H touched his throat absently, remembering the feeling of powerlessness and how much he hated it.

He didn't doubt that Batista would make good on his threat if challenged; that he would leave Evolution for Elektra. In fact, the only part about the whole encounter that gave him anything resembling satisfaction was seeing the stark terror gleaming in Elektra's pale grey eyes. Triple H's mouth turned up at the corners in a sadistic smile, as he imagined what he would do to the unfaithful Diva once she was alone, far from the protection of Dave Batista.

Triple H abruptly got to his feet, stalking across the room like a restless predator. None of this was supposed to happen in the first place. _He_ should be the World Heavyweight Champion right now, and Batista should be alone, blissfully aware of his limitless potential.

The Cerebral Assassin had always known that the Animal was capable of surpassing him one day, so he had taken great pains to ensure that _that_ would never happen. He had accomplished this by gradually pulling Batista up the ranks of the Raw roster while subtly keeping him from the top prize; telling him that while he was good and would be Champion _someday_, he wasn't ready _yet_.

But then Elektra had come along and fucked up more than a year's worth of painstaking manipulation. She was probably using every opportunity that she had to tell Batista the truth about his old pal, Triple H. And the last thing the Game wanted was to face an unleashed Animal in the ring, one fully aware of his own strength and power.

Triple H knew, he _knew_ that he would be World Heavyweight Champion again. But now how long would it be before Batista decided to challenge him for Raw's top spot?

The Game's mind whirred as he paced, his logic arriving at one definite conclusion: he had to get Elektra away from the Animal as soon as possible. Otherwise, everything he had worked for would be for nothing. But how could he possibly separate them?

Triple H had already ruled out the possibility of destroying their relationship from within. Randy Orton had tried that and almost succeeded (love or hate the little shit, his plan had been _genius_), but unfortunately, 'almost' didn't get the job done. In the end, all Orton had gotten was a whole lot of unnecessary pain, from his own teammates, no less. Besides, Batista and Elektra both knew that the Game was the undisputed master of mind games. They would already be steeling themselves for another psychological attack.

No, if those two were going to driven apart, the proverbial wedge had to come from an external source, one that could not be traced back to Triple H so easily. The Game stroked his chin thoughtfully. What if the separation wasn't an emotional one, but a literal physical one? And in the WWE, there were only two ways that kind of separation could be achieved: if one partner was traded to a different brand...or if one partner sustained a serious injury.

The Game quickly ruled out the possibility of getting Batista or Elektra traded to SmackDown. Eric Bischoff loathed the Thursday night franchise, and would sooner saw off his own arm than voluntarily trade any Superstar to Theodore Long, for _any _reason. So that left injury as the route to go.

Triple H stopped in front of the window, leaning back against the glass and cracking his knuckles. Injuries were a tricky thing to gauge. Wrestling with lingering injuries was a part of the WWE lifestyle, and it was actually a lot harder than it seemed to truly incapacitate someone. But the Game had made a career out of ending careers, and this would be no exception. Never mind the fact that both of his intended targets were technically his allies. That was merely another one of those pesky little gray areas.

Pointing to one corner of the room, then the other, at the invisible forms of Batista and Elektra, Triple H softly chanted: "Eeny meeny miny mo..." But in his head, he had already made his decision.

After what he had done one month ago, it would be impossible to get anywhere near Elektra without having to go through Batista first. Granted, he could get another Diva to do his dirty work, but all of the women on the roster physically capable of injuring Elektra had known him long enough to regard him with more than a modicum of distrust.

So that left Batista as the sacrificial lamb. At this, Triple H felt a slight twinge of conscience. It seemed like such a waste of perfectly good talent...and Evolution was certainly going to suffer without the Animal's reliable strength and power. But just as quickly, the Game brushed the feeling aside. Dave had brought it on himself. If he had just listened a month, Triple H wouldn't have had to resort to such measures.

The Game slowly ran his hands down his face, steepling them under his chin. Taking out Batista was not going to be easy. There was a legitimate reason that they called him "the Animal". Triple H was going to have to form more than a few unholy alliances with some of his least favorite Superstars to make this happen. But it was really all for the best. A serious injury would give Batista a few weeks, hopefully even a few months, to cool his heels and reconsider the choices he had made.

Not to mention that Elektra would be left alone and totally defenseless without him.

The Game smiled, a cruel twisted smirk. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to break that bitch _down_, to make sure that she _never_ defied him again. By the time Batista came back, it would be a miracle if she even looked at the Animal ever again.

Triple H turned around, staring out the window at the deserted parking lot. His brain was humming with plans and schemes and lies...but also with a quiet desperation. If he wanted this plan to succeed, he would have to strike fast and soon, because the Game knew, all too well, that he was running out of time.


	33. Chapter 33: Just Getting Started

**Author's Note: I want to apologize for taking so long to update, but after last week...WOW. I'm still trying to wrap my head around what's happened involving Chris Benoit and his family. I think that I'm still in some kind of shock and I honestly don't know how I feel. I don't want to eulogize here; I just want to say that Chris Benoit entertained us all, and whereever he is now, I hope he's found some peace. RIP Benoit. You will be missed.**

* * *

Chapter 33: Just Getting Started

Elektra set her suitcase down on the bench, unzipping it and pulling out her ring attire for the evening. Two days had gone by, two days since the tag match and Triple H's subsequent rampage with a steel chair. The Raw Superstars were now in Columbus, Georgia for a live event. Normally, Elektra enjoyed live events, but right now, all she could think about was the Game. She still couldn't get the image of his eyes out of her mind; the hatred in them creating an unholy light of its own.

Elektra pulled her thoughts back to the present, to Columbus, to the women's locker room. If she kept dwelling on Monday night, she'd drive herself crazy all on her own. Instead, she forced herself to focus on the mundane task of coordinating outfits for the evening. Batista would be in the main event match tonight, for which she'd be accompanying him. However, she'd also heard a rumor that she was involved in a Divas match as well.

She had just laid out a pair of little pink shorts and a black V-neck tank top, and was rooting in her bag for a belt when she sensed someone standing over her. She looked up to see Lita staring down at her, a smirk on her face and her newly won Women's Championship belt on her shoulder.

The gray-eyed Diva stiffened, and then rose to her full height. Her expression was hard. "What do _you_ want?" she demanded, her voice flat.

Lita shrugged, her demeanor nonchalant. "Just came over to tell you that it'll be you and Trish against me and Victoria in a tag match tonight."

"Great," Elektra retorted sarcastically. She stared at Lita for a few seconds. "Is that it? Are we done here?"

The Queen of Hardcore cleared her throat, running one hand leisurely over the polished surface of her title belt. "Well, now that you mentioned it…I just thought that you'd like to congratulate me on my title win this past Monday."

Elektra's eyes flicked from Lita to the title belt, then back again. "Hmmm." she grunted. Bending down, she concentrated on assembling her attire. Where _was_ that belt?

Lita's self-satisfied grin slowly faded into a frown. She eased the title belt off her shoulder, holding it at her side. "Look," she snapped. "What's your problem, anyway? Don't tell me you're still pissed about the whole Randy thing."

The entire locker room fell silent. The other Divas looked at each other warily, knowing that the shit was about to hit the fan and wondering if they should step in when it did. Elektra froze, her hand clasped around her cosmetics bag. She didn't look up.

Lita continued, either completely oblivious or else not caring about the consequences. "I mean, everything worked out all right. You and Dave got back together, Randy got what he deserved…BOOM! Everyone's happy."

Elektra finally glanced up. She silently stood again, her expression unreadable. When she spoke, her voice was calm and dangerously quiet. "You're right…it _did_ all work out in the end. So, there's absolutely no reason why I shouldn't shake your hand to congratulate you." She extended her hand, and after a couple moments, Lita accepted it tentatively.

Instantly, Elektra's fingers clamped around hers in a crushing grip and she yanked back, pulling the Women's Champion forcibly over the bench. They were so close; they could have hugged each other. But there would be no more friendly embraces between these two. Elektra brought her mouth next to Lita's ear, her words as cold and piercing as shards of ice: "For someone who once warned me about Randy Orton, you sure are becoming a lot like him. Okay, maybe you didn't set me up, but you knew about it, and you did _nothing_. Do you really think that I'm going to forget about that? When I said that I'd never forgive you, I meant _never_."

Lita struggled to free herself, but Elektra remained as unyielding and immobile as a statue. She willed herself to stay calm, despite the nagging urge to just punch the Women's Champion in the nose and be done with it. "I always knew that someday, you and I would be settling our issues in the ring. So when you finish this business with Trish…I'll be waiting." She let out a small snort of laughter. "Hell, maybe you'll still be champion by then. Wouldn't _that_ make my day; kicking your ass _and_ taking your title? And let me tell you—" Elektra paused. "Winning the Women's Championship from you won't make up for what you did to me…but it'll help."

She felt Lita trying to pull her arm loose again, and this time, she abruptly let go. The red-haired Diva practically flew backward, until she tripped and landed rather unceremoniously on her butt. Pushing her long hair out of her face, she stared agape back at Elektra, her mouth a perfect "O" of astonishment.

Elektra shrugged innocently, her mouth curving into the tiniest of smiles. "Oops."

From the far corners of the room came the sound of snickering, as the other Divas tried (unsuccessfully) to muffle their laughter. Most of them had their backs turned, but their shaking shoulders belied their mirth. On the other side, Trish spun around on her bench, her face creased with a broad grin.

"Hey, Amy," she called out, her voice full of bitterness and glee. "Be careful; you don't want the same thing happening during your first match as Champion."

Lita looked around furiously at the other Divas, her pretty face twisting into a snarl. "Shut up!" she yelled. "All of you, _shut up_! You're just jealous!" She raised the Women's Championship over her head as she carefully got back to her feet. "You're _all_ jealous because _I'm_ the Champion! I don't need you; I don't need _any_ of you!"

For several seconds, silence reigned over the women's locker room. Then, Elektra was the one to fill the vacuum with sound again. "Nah-nah nah nah," she sang softly. "Nah-nah nah nah, Hey, hey hey—" She made a small but deliberate wave with her hand. "_Goodbye_."

She began "The Goodbye Song" again, and this time, Trish sang along with her, her eyes glued to their former friend. One by one, the other Divas joined in, turning around to stare at Lita, their voice growing louder and louder until the song echoed off the walls. They sang faster and faster, turning the musical phrase into a cheer of sorts, clapping along with the beat.

Lita glanced from side to side, looking for at least one potential ally and finding none. "Fuck you!" she screamed, struggling in vain to make herself heard over the din. "Fuck _all_ of you!" Throwing the title belt over her shoulder, she stalked over to the door, tugging hard on the handle before remembering that it opened outward. With a shriek of impatience, she kicked the door open and stormed out.

Trish jumped up from the bench, running across the room to high-five Elektra. The silver-eyed Diva laughed, throwing her arm affectionately around Trish's shoulders. "That was fun," she remarked. She looked over at Trish. "We should do it again sometime."

Trish dissolved into giggles and the pair exchanged a brief hug, their personal problems temporarily forgotten in this moment of spontaneous hilarity.

* * *

Elektra strode down the hallway, Trish right behind her. A far cry from the joking Divas in the locker room an hour earlier, they were all business now. Elektra pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, securing it with a hair tie she had around her wrist. The two of them paused at an intersection between the corridors, Elektra smoothing back her hair and tucking a few stray strands behind her ears.

She was just about to turn to Trish for comment when she heard a faint but familiar voice coming from around the corner, somewhere down the hallway crossing theirs. It took a moment or two for her brain to recognize the voice as Lita's.

"What's—" Trish started to say, but Elektra held up a finger, silencing her. Pressing her back to the wall, she inched as close to the corner as she could while still staying out of sight. Trish followed suit, squeezing herself next to the gray-eyed Diva.

Elektra didn't know what exactly compelled her to stop and eavesdrop. Maybe it was just human nature; the need to hear something that no one else is supposed to hear. Or maybe it was something else; something more grounded in logic. Something in Lita's voice…

The Women's Champion must have been at the other end of the corridor; Elektra could barely hear her. She tried to breathe as quietly as possible, eliminating as much outside noise as she could. Lita sounded like she was in the midst of a conversation. Elektra was still trying to put her finger on what about the scenario had sparked her attention.

Then, in a flash, it came to her: Lita sounded happy. As trivial as this seemed, most people didn't realize that happiness was not a normal part of the red-haired Diva's world, not anymore. Even winning the Women's Championship had only given her a bitter satisfaction. To hear the Queen of Hardcore as elated as she did right now—Elektra wasn't sure whether she should be relieved…or apprehensive.

"Stop!" she heard Lita exclaim playfully. "_Stop it_—you're gonna make me late for my match!"

There was a response, but the voice was too far away and too low for Elektra to identify.

The Women's Champion laughed. "Of course I did! I've had a great time _every_ night—being with you while telling my _husband _that I'm hanging out with those bitches in the locker room." She paused. "Trust me, he doesn't have a clue. None of them do."

Elektra's eyes widened, but she didn't move, didn't make a sound. Trish must have heard it too, because Elektra felt her body tense. The mystery person said something else, but again, the voice was too inaudible to hear clearly.

Lita's reply was so soft that she practically had to lean around the corner to make it out. "A little something for good luck? Sure…I'll give you a little something _now_ and the rest…_later tonight_." There was no mistaking the intent in her tone; Elektra knew because she talked the same way to Batista when no one else was around.

By now, her curiosity was beginning to outweigh her common sense. Elektra was on the verge of throwing all caution to the wind and peeking around the corner when she heard fast footsteps approaching the intersection. Quickly, she grabbed Trish by the arm and pulled her back into a small niche a few feet behind them. Peering cautiously around the edge, she saw Lita emerge from the opposite corridor and hang a left, heading in the direction of the ring. Elektra finally exhaled, the air leaving her lungs in a huge sigh. She looked over Trish, the expression on the blond Diva's face mirroring her own.

"Okay…what just happened?" Trish whispered. "Did we just hear what I thought we heard?"

Elektra raised one shoulder. "Damned if I know—I'm still trying to tell myself that I'm not hallucinating." She hesitated. "Matt Hardy?"

Trish shook her head. "He's still out—torn ACL."

"So here's the question," Elektra replied, glancing around the corner again. "If Lita's screwing someone behind Kane's back—and it's not Matt Hardy—then who the hell is it? Who was she talking to back there?"

"More importantly," Trish added. "Now that we know about it—what are we going to do?"

For a long moment, neither one of them said again. Elektra eventually ventured forth. "The way I see it, this can go one of two ways: it'll either turn out to be nothing…or it'll become one huge clusterfuck."

She glanced at Trish again, and they uttered the word at the exact same time. "_Clusterfuck_."

"What about Kane?" Trish asked. "Now, I'm not a fan of the man…but he's still technically her husband. He _did_ stand up to defend her at Taboo Tuesday. If he found out—" She stopped before she could complete the thought.

"We both know what he would do to her if he found out," Elektra finished softly. The two of them shuddered involuntarily. "I mean, we're still not entirely sure that the man is even human. He set someone on fire, Trish. _On fire_!"

"I know, okay?" Trish interrupted. "Jesus! I've been in the ring with him! I've felt his hands around my neck! Don't try and explain to me what he's capable of; I've _lived_ it!"

"Besides," Elektra remarked, subtly shifting gears. "Despite what Lita did to me, I can't justify doing something like that to her. Lita had _months_ of opportunity—she knew what going on between me and Dave; she could have told Triple H. But she _didn't_…and I can't ignore that."

Trish sighed. "Me neither." She smiled wryly. "We're going to suffer for being such good people, aren't we?"

"You better believe it," Elektra answered. She pushed her body off the wall. "But enough chit-chat. If we don't get down to that ring, we won't have to worry about Lita; we'll be too busy looking for another job."

The pair cautiously stepped back into the hallway, continuing their walk toward the ring entrance. Already, they could hear the cheers of the crowd. It sounded like a full house tonight.

"Well, we can be sure of one thing," Trish remarked.

"And what's that?" Elektra asked.

"Amy doesn't do anything halfway," the former Women's Champion replied. "_Whoever_ she's sleeping with, he's gonna be a major player on Raw, wait and see."

* * *

When Trish's music hit, both Divas pushed the black curtain aside and walked out to a deafening chorus of boos. Elektra stayed just a step or two behind Trish, smirking haughtily at the fans, a gesture which earned her even more of their ire. Trish, meanwhile, preoccupied herself with pointing and yelling smack at the new Women's Champion. In the ring, Lita held up her title belt mockingly, the smile on her face practically a gloat.

Elektra couldn't prevent a wave of anger from sweeping through her body. The idea that Lita had tried to brush off what she had done as no big deal still filled her with rage. For just an instant, Elektra was seized by the overwhelming temptation to track down the Big Red Machine and fill him in on a few key details regarding his wife. But she let the moment pass. No matter what happened, she was not about to let herself sink down to Lita's level. Besides, knowing Kane, he would just as soon chokeslam Elektra.

The two Divas stepped through the ropes, and Trish immediately strode over to Lita, getting right in her face and gesturing at the Women's Championship. Referee Jack Doan tried to separate them unsuccessfully, until their respective tag team partners came over and pulled them apart. Elektra made a big show out of restraining Trish; ironic, since she was the one more likely to require restraint. The Divas pretended to have a brief strategy talk; then Elektra stepped to the outside while Trish headed to the center to start the match-up with Victoria.

The first part of the match was pretty standard: a lock-up, followed by some forearm shots. Trish soon gained the advantage and twisted Victoria's arm up behind her back, pushing her back into the corner of the opposition and getting the tag from Elektra. The silver-eyed Diva got in the ring, keeping the pressure on the hold. Pushing Victoria back into the center, she forced the other Diva onto her knees. Letting go of her arm, she nailed Victoria's already-wounded shoulder with a vicious kick. Victoria collapsed on the mat, clutching her left arm. Elektra crouched down, hands on knees, waiting for the other Diva to get to her feet again. When Victoria had finally regained her footing, Elektra ran back toward the ropes, intending to use them to springboard into a clothesline. When she reached the far side of the ring, she hit the ropes as planned…but instead of bouncing off, she was struck by a sharp blow to the back of her neck. Elektra fell to the canvas, holding the back of her head in pain. Her neck and back had been problem areas ever since she had gotten power-bombed a month ago. Tonight was no exception; it felt as though tongues of flame were ravaging her spine.

From her corner, Lita looked around innocently, as though she could not possibly imagine how Elektra had gone down. The cheap shot earned her a boo or two, but for the most part, everyone was thrilled to see the former First Lady of Evolution get knocked to the ground. Lita held out her hand impatiently, waiting for the tag. Victoria stared at her for a second or two, knowing that the worst possible scenario was Elektra and Lita in the ring together, but her duty as an entertainer finally won out and she slapped Lita's hand.

The Women's Champion got into the ring, and nailed Elektra in the abdomen and kidneys with a few quick stomps. Elektra curled up into a ball, trying to ward off the attack. But Lita soon switched tactics and grabbed hold of her hair, dragging her out to the center of the ring.

"Hey!" Doan admonished. "Watch the hair!" Lita let go, holding up her hands in mock innocence. But just as quickly, she took hold of the gray-eyed Diva's hair a second time, pulling her up only to throw her face-first into the mat. Ignoring the referee's warning, she grabbed both of Elektra's wrists and hauled her back up. The Women's Champion deftly crossed Elektra's forearms over her throat and tugged backward on her wrists, essentially choking the other Diva with her own limbs.

Elektra struggled to catch her breath. Her forearms were crushing her trachea, slowly cutting off the flow of oxygen to her brain. Lita mercilessly yanked back on her wrists, tightening the criss-cross choke even more. Her knee dug painfully into the small of Elektra's back as she increased the pressure.

Doan was on his knees in front of her, ready to call for the bell should she decide to submit. "Talk to me, Elektra," he asked. "You want to give it up?"

"Yeah, Elektra," Lita chimed in mockingly. "You wanna give it up?" As though to further express her point, she twisted Elektra's left wrist sharply until bolts of pain shot down her arm.

"Shut up, you fucking whore!" Elektra retorted through clenched teeth. "_You_ were the one giving it up in the hallway a few minutes ago."

Lita stiffened, and suddenly released the submission hold. Elektra fell to the canvas, coughing and letting blessed oxygen fill her lungs. The Women's Champion reached down and seized her by the throat, dragging her back to her feet. "You don't know _anything_." she spat. With that, she tucked Elektra's head under her arm and raised her other hand in the air, preparing to deliver the Twist of Fate. The match was actually slated to go on for several more minutes, but it seemed that the red-haired Diva was done toying with her and was ready to end it.

Before she could follow through, however, Elektra regained her equilibrium. Bringing her fists together, she hit Lita in the abdomen with a two-handed sledge. Lita's eyes widened in shock and she let go of Elektra, all the air escaping from her lungs in a surprised "OOF!" The Queen of Hardcore dropped to one knee, her face turning almost as red as her hair as she tried to breathe. Elektra stepped back, never taking her eyes off the Women's Champion. Common sense told her that now was the time to attack, but Elektra was ruled by emotion at the moment, and emotion preferred to have Lita actually see the attack coming.

Lita recovered rapidly and standing, lunged forward and shoved Elektra, knocking the silver-eyed Diva back a few paces. Elektra was so taken aback by this incredibly childish display of anger that she almost started laughing. Even though she managed not to, she still couldn't keep a small smile off her face. Glancing briefly around the arena, she locked eyes with Lita again and shoved her just as hard right back. The Women's Champion stumbled back, almost repeating her performance in the locker room. But this time, she regained her footing and responded with a nasty slap, striking Elektra right across the cheek.

The fans' cheers had become a confused muddle. They understood that, at this moment, characters were starting to slip and true colors were starting to show through.

The right side of Elektra's face burned, and with one hand, she reached up to wiggle her jaw back and forth slightly, making sure nothing was broken. Shaking it off, she fixed Lita with a look that could be best described as "Oh no you didn't!". She flew at the Women's Champion, peppering her with hard forearms, driving her back toward the center of the ring. Turning around and stepping lightly, she attempted the springboard clothesline a second time. This time, she nailed it, bouncing off the ropes and catching Lita in the chest with her arm. The red-haired Diva hit the canvas skull-first, thrashing and clutching her sternum.

Over in the opposite corner, Trish was leaning halfway over the ropes, pounding on the turnbuckle post, desperate to get in the ring. But Elektra had forgotten about her tag team partner, had even forgotten that she was in the middle of a match. All of her attention was focused on Lita.

"Come on, Lita," she taunted, the amusement disappearing from her face. "Who's laughing _now_, bitch? Get up!"

Her back was to the Titantron; she only heard the jeering volume increase to a deafening roar. Elektra turned around, and felt a ripple of terror take hold of her body when she saw Triple H walking down the ramp.

The Game was dressed in his wrestling gear; his face expressionless. He didn't stop, didn't acknowledge the crowd at all; just kept marching stoically toward the ring.

For Elektra, it was as though the temperature in the arena had suddenly dropped twenty degrees. Goosebumps formed on her arms and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. She willed herself not to look into his eyes, knowing that if she did, she would be unable to move, like a mouse caught in the sights of a snake.

Forcing herself to block out the Cerebral Assassin, she turned around…only to see Lita running toward her at top speed. The Women's Champion launched her body forward, grabbing Elektra around the waist, sending both of them through the ropes with a modified Spear.

Elektra hit the floor spine-first, the impact of the fall ricocheting through every fiber of her body. She arched upward, gasping, her limbs racked with excruciating pain. Lita was less worse for wear; having used Elektra to break her fall. The Women's Champion now straddled her torso, grabbing two handfuls of hair and slamming the gray-eyed Diva's head against the black security mat. Elektra swore that she could feel her brain rattling around in her skull. She flailed her arms around helplessly, unable to even defend herself. Inside the ring, Doan began his ten-count.

Her vision was a ceaseless blur of motion, but Elektra still saw a large figure suddenly appear right behind Lita. It could only be Triple H. Elektra tried to talk, attempting to say something, _anything_, to ward off the impending assault. Lita didn't notice; she was muttering to herself, her features fixed in a grimace of hatred.

Elektra braced herself—and then, without warning, the Game seized Lita, grabbing her by the hair and neck, hauling her off Elektra. The red-haired Diva shrieked, trying to squirm free, but she would have been better off attempting to bend iron with her bare hands.

Elektra rolled onto her side, gagging, struggling to see past the tremendous throbbing in her temple and making a valiant attempt not to throw up. Triple H twisted Lita around to face him, shouting in her face: "You think you can mess with her? You think you can disrespect her?"

Lita clasped her hands in front of her as though in prayer, pleading with the Game. "Hunter, I didn't mean it, I swear!" she begged, her expression wide-eyed and terrified.

Triple H ignored her plaintive cries. "You mess with _one_ of us, you mess with _all_ of us, bitch!" he roared, and with one fluid brutal motion, threw the Women's Champion against the security barrier like a rag doll.

Doan, who had stuck his head through the ropes to reason with the Game, now ran to the other side of the ring and motioned for the bell, calling for the DQ. Triple H didn't seem to mind; merely looked around the arena, smirking. The fans were rabid, practically leaping over the barricade as they vented their vitriolic hatred for the Game. Lita lay on the floor in a limp heap, unconscious.

Elektra barely registered all of this; she was too busy trying to regain her senses. A hand appeared in her line of sight, offering assistance. Elektra accepted it, and as her vision cleared, looked up. Triple H stared back down at her, still gloating over his interference.

The silver-eyed Diva didn't just let go of his hand; she flung it from her like a hot coal, scrambling backward, her feet unsuccessfully seeking traction. Finding her footing, she stood on the ramp, staring, horrified, at the Game. The Cerebral Assassin met her gaze, making no move to follow her. The blood pounded in her ears, and before she could freeze in that critical moment, she turned on her heel and ran back up the ramp.

She didn't care how her retreat looked to the fans; her duty to entertain had been supplanted by the basic need to survive.

* * *

Elektra shoved the black curtain aside and made it about nine or ten feet before she had to stop. Even though adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, it couldn't mask the searing pain shooting up and down her body. Her legs in particular felt as though they were about to give out.

She sagged against a nearby equipment crate, pressing both hands on its surface for support. Pushing loose hair back from her face, she concentrated on breathing, on the simple sounds of inhaling and exhaling. Breathe in, breath out. Breathe in, breathe—

"Boy, you dashed out of there pretty quick," Triple H's bemused voice cut through her meditation, turning her blood to ice. Elektra didn't look up, but saw her fingers curl into claws, the fingernails scratching the durable plastic of the crate. She didn't need to glance up to know how close he was to her; some things you can just sense. The Game was obeying Batista's directive, but just barely. His body was almost touching hers. _Almost_.

Elektra finally lifted her head up, steeling herself mentally and looking directly at Triple H. His blank expression had been replaced by a unique combination of confidence and arrogance, the same one he had been wearing the night they met. But now, almost a full year later, the sight of it filled Elektra with nothing but dread. The Game was about to toy with her, calling on his wide range of mental torments to gain a modicum of sadistic pleasure.

Triple H continued. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost." He reached out as though to caress her arm, his hand coming within a hairsbreadth of her skin.

Elektra shrank away, stepping around the crate, trying to put an actual physical barrier between her and the Game. "Get away from me, Hunter," she replied in a low voice, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.

Triple H adopted a wounded countenance. "Is that the thanks I get for saving your ass out there?" He deliberately took a step toward her.

Elektra backed up even more, her shoulders colliding with the wall. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she could barely articulate her next words. "_Shut up_. I was fine until you decided to show up."

The Game waved her accusation aside. "All I know is that I saw a fellow Evolution member in trouble and came out to help." Was there a touch of sarcasm in his tone…or was it just her imagination playing tricks with her?

"_Bullshit_." Elektra was shocked by how confident she sounded. The anger inside her was starting to boil over, temporarily blotting out the fear. "You came out just to sabotage my match. What were you planning on doing next, pulling out a chair and whacking Lita across the face? Or better yet…me?" She held up her index finger, pointing at Triple H. "You want to fuck up your own matches, _fine_. But stay out of mine. Stay out of my _life_, period."

Triple H chuckled. Just the sound of his laughter infuriated her. "Babe—"

"_Elektra_," the gray-eyed Diva interrupted icily. "I'm not your _babe_ anymore, _remember_?"

The Game's smile faded for an instant. "Fine, _Elektra_." In that moment, his voice became as hard as stone. "In case you've forgotten, you're with Dave. He's a part of Evolution, therefore, so are you. And as long as that's that…" He paused, letting smugness reappear on his face. "I'm still a part of your life." He stepped forward, and this time, Elektra didn't shy away, _couldn't_. "One of these days, Dave may not be around to protect you. You never know; something could happen to him. This is a dangerous business." He put his hand on the crate, purposefully resting it less than an inch from hers. "And if that happens…Flair and I…we'll be all you've got."

Elektra tried to swallow, but it was almost impossible. It seemed that her heart had somehow lodged itself in her throat. "Is that a threat?" she retorted, unable to prevent her voice from quavering.

Triple H laughed, and in a flash, his eyes became hard flecks of polished stone. Elektra was consumed by that all-too-familiar sensation of being trapped. She tried to back away, but her hip collided with another crate, spaced a few feet from the first. The Game quickly stepped toward her, effectively boxing her in the tiny hollow between the crates. He put one hand on each edge, leaning down toward her. Elektra pressed herself against the wall, praying that someone, _anyone_, would choose now to walk by. But the backstage area was deserted…and when Triple H spoke, his voice was so quiet that only she could have heard it: "It's whatever you want it to be, babe."

Elektra couldn't prevent a soft moan of terror from escaping her lips. She closed her eyes, feeling tears gather at her lashes. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" she whispered.

The Game chuckled again, but this time, the sound of it made her feel as though needles were stabbing her brain. He leaned even closer, his breath tickling her ear. "Leave you alone? Babe…we're just getting started."

Elektra choked back a sob, trying to tell herself that this was just a bad dream. But if this was just a dream…then why couldn't she wake up?

"Elektra?" The gray-eyed Diva sagged with relief at the utterance of her name. Opening her eyes, she saw Batista walking toward her briskly, Flair right behind him. Both wore expressions of concern. Elektra pushed herself off the wall and shoved Triple H aside, running over to Batista. The Animal caught her in his arms, holding her against his chest and stroking her hair. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked. "What happened?"

Elektra looked at him, too choked up to speak. Batista's features hardened almost imperceptibly. "What did he do to you?" he questioned, his voice becoming rough with emotion.

"_Do_?" Elektra repeated bitterly, finding her voice. "He doesn't need to _do_ anything to make his point."

Holding her for a few seconds and then carefully shifting her behind him, Batista began advancing toward Triple H. "This all just a game to you?" he demanded, his huge body shaking with pent-up anger. He pointed at the Game. "You stay away from her! You hear me, Hunter? _Stay away from her_!"

Triple H leaned back against the crate, cracking his knuckles, completely unfazed. "Or what?" he remarked mildly.

It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and both of them knew it. The Animal's face turned bright red with rage. He stormed toward the Game, fists clenched. "Son of a bitch—"

Instantly, two figures inserted themselves in his path. Flair placed himself in front of Triple H like a shield, holding up his hands and trying to rationalize the Game's behavior. Elektra clung to Batista's arm, pleading with him: "Please, Dave, don't do it! It's what he wants! Don't do it, please don't—" She pressed her face into his bicep. "Let's just go, please. Just take me away from here."

The tension slowly bled from the Animal and he gently pulled his arm free so he could wrap it around her shoulders. Looking back up, he focused his gaze on Flair. "You better talk to him, Ric, before I go off on him." he said quietly, his voice rumbling with menace. "She shouldn't have to put up with this crap. If this happens again, I'm leaving. Understood?"

"Dave, come on," Flair begged, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "You know Hunter. He was just joking—"

Elektra tensed, and Batista tightened his embrace a little more. "Just _joking_?" he repeated incredulously. "Ric, in case you didn't notice, the joke stopped being funny a long time ago." Without taking his eyes off the Nature Boy, he pointed at Triple H. "Talk to him or I'm out." Pulling Elektra against his side, he turned around and walked away, carefully supporting the shaken Diva.

Flair closed his eyes, and sighed, knowing that, finally, the thing he'd feared most was coming to pass: Evolution was crumbling from within.


	34. Chapter 34: Let Her Go

**Author's Note: Whew! This is by far one of the hardest chapters I've had to write. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it. I also want to take the opportunity to thank all of you who have stuck with the story from its humble beginnings to the minor epic it seems to have become. To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much! To those who have read without reviewing, shame on you! (No, I'm just kidding!) Again, thank you just for reading and sticking with me! I cannot say this enough!**

* * *

Chapter 34: Let Her Go

Batista was alone when Flair returned to the Evolution locker room. The Animal continued lacing up his boots, barely glancing up when the Nature Boy took a seat on an adjacent bench.

Flair cleared his throat awkwardly. "So...where's your better half?"

Batista rolled his eyes at the comment, but didn't look up. "I took her back to the women's locker room. She's staying with Trish and Molly tonight."

"She's rooming with Trish?" Flair asked. "I would have thought, after what happened, that she'd want to stay with you."

Batista hesitated for a second or two. "Yeah, well, we both thought that it would be better if Hunter didn't know where she was sleeping tonight."

Flair mulled over this, digesting the full implications of this statement. "Good idea," he murmured, staring down at his hands. The two men fell silent. Finally, Batista rose to his feet, intending to leave. He had just reached the door when Flair spoke again. "In fact...it might be for the best if you two stopped seeing each other for a while."

Batista froze, his hand resting on the door frame. "Really?" he remarked, trying to sound as casual as possible. He didn't turn around. "Exactly how long are we talking here?"

"Just a while," Flair answered evasively, studying the floor.

"_Ric_." The Animal turned on his heel, fixing the Nature Boy with a steely glare. "_How long_?" he repeated emphatically.

Flair sighed, looking up to meet Batista's eyes. "A month," he admitted reluctantly. "At least."

Batista looked toward the ceiling in exasperation. "Jesus Christ–" he muttered irritably.

"Just until this whole World Title situation gets squared away!" Flair interjected, standing up. He held out his hands, as though making a peace offering. "You know, Hunter's had a tough week–"

"Tough _week_?" Batista exclaimed, his expression now incredulous. He pointed toward the door. "Did you–did you even _see_ the look on her face? He has her _scared to death_, and you're saying it's because he's had a _tough week_?" He passed one hand over his eyes, trying desperately to keep his cool. "If you ask me, she's the one who's had it tough."

"Look," the Nature Boy snapped. "I don't like what happened out there any more than you do. But I talked to H, and trust me, it's going to stop."

"That's a load of shit, and we _both _know it," Batista retorted quietly. "Hunter's not going to stop. He's gonna keep pushing her and pushing her until she snaps." The Animal began pacing across the floor. "And I'm not gonna stand back and let that happen."

Another long moment of silence passed. Batista continued to pace restlessly, his emotions written across his face, while Flair remained icily calm.

"You know," the Nature Boy's soft drawl interrupted the quiet. "There _is_ another way you could solve all this."

Batista stopped, glancing at Flair. "And that is?" he asked, his voice a mixture of hope and wariness.

Flair's expression grew sober. "By calling it quits with her." He took a step toward the Animal. "Walk away, Dave...and just forget about her."

Batista's face hardened with cold fury. "Say something like that again, and I'll kick your ass." He advanced toward the Nature Boy. "I should punch you right now for even suggesting it. That's not an option, Ric. That's _never_ an option."

"Look, if you want to be a stubborn jackass about it, _fine_!" Flair shot back. "But at least think about what's best for _her_!"

Batista shook his head slowly. "You really are something, you know that?" he remarked sarcastically. "Acting like you give a shit about her well-being...Where were you, Ric, when the Game beat the hell out of her in the middle of the ring? Huh? Where was your _concern_ then? And tonight...you know what he would have done to her if we hadn't showed up. But here you are, still trying to make excuses for him. Why are you defending him, Ric?" The Animal didn't even wait for an answer, but rushed on. "I'm the only person who's ever stood up to protect her. Do you really think, for _one second_, that Hunter is going to leave her alone once I'm gone?"

"Yes, I do!" Flair replied angrily. "Because, as hard as it may be to believe, Hunter's problem isn't really with her; it's with _you_!" His revelation was enough to stun Batista into shocked silence. Flair continued, knowing that he finally had the Animal's full attention. "Think about it, Dave: if Elektra was with _any other_ person on this roster, _including_ Orton, Triple H wouldn't give a damn. But because she's with you, he's been walking around with this huge chip on his shoulder." The Nature Boy paused. "He thinks that you're slipping; letting yourself get distracted from what's really important by focusing on her. And Dave–no offense–but you _did_ steal his girl."

Batista couldn't stop himself from laughing; the chain of reasoning was so ridiculous. "Let me get this straight: Triple H, _the Game_, is losing it because he got _dumped_?" He went on, a smile still on his face. "And as for Elektra being a distraction–are you saying that she's not good for me? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"No, what I'm saying is that _you're_ not good for _her_!" Flair retorted. "And the longer you hold onto her, the more danger you're gonna put her in!" His vehement response wiped the laughter from the Animal's face. Now, it was the Nature Boy's turn to pace. "I warned you two about getting involved, but you didn't listen. You went ahead anyway, and now, she's the one who's paying for it. Hunter is convinced that Elektra's out to destroy him. In his mind, she embarrassed him by sleeping with you behind his back, and now, she's returned to take him out by turning you against him. We both know that's not the case, but as long as Hunter believes it, there's no way she's going to be safe in Evolution. As long as she's with you, he's going to see her as a threat, and he'll keep toying with her until she leaves you...or loses her mind." Flair was almost pleading. "Can't you see that the best thing for you to do is to just break it off with her and be done with it?"

Batista looked off toward the shelves, his expression unreadable. "Can't do that, Ric." he finally answered, his voice soft.

"I know, I _know_!" Flair interjected impatiently. "You're in _love_! We all know! You don't need to keep reminding us! Well, Dave, if you love her so much, would you stop being so goddamn selfish? Stop trying to prove a point with Hunter and start thinking about Elektra. She's a sweetheart and a good kid, but she never belonged in Evolution in the first place. Not with Triple H...not even with you." Flair held out his hands, beseeching the Animal. "Do the right thing, Dave. Let her go. _Let her go_."

Several minutes of silence passed as Batista pondered this. The internal struggle of what he should do was etched plainly across his features. Finally, he looked over at the Nature Boy, shaking his head. "No." His reply was terse. "No, there has to be another way. I'm not losing her a second time just so I can make the Game happy." Turning around, he pushed open the door and stormed out into the hall.

"Dave..." Flair called after him, his voice a warning. "Dave!" But it was too late; the Animal was already gone. The Nature Boy massaged his temples with one hand, trying to assuage the throbbing in his forehead. "Shit." he muttered to the empty room.

* * *

Batista swung the car into the white-lined space, braking with only inches to space. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, the parking garage of the arena in Huntsville was already half-full. All around him, technicians were setting up for the next edition of Monday Night Raw. 

Instead of unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car, the Animal leaned forward, resting one arm on the steering wheel. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes, suppressing the urge to yawn. Batista wasn't just tired; he was emotionally exhausted. Between the usual stress of traveling from town to town, the punishment his body suffered in the ring, and the ever-present threat of an attack by Triple H on Elektra, the Animal was physically and mentally drained.

As it did at least once every day, his recent conversation with Flair popped back into his mind. _Let her go_... As he had done each time in the past, Batista pushed the thought from his head, ashamed of even consciously recalling the exchange.

There was no way he would even consider ending his relationship with Elektra; the thought alone was beyond comprehension. But even the Animal couldn't ignore the fact that some compromise had to be reached, and soon. Batista may have possessed astounding raw strength and power, as well as unlimited potential, but he was not equipped to withstand psychological warfare. Especially when it was applied by the undisputed master of manipulation, Triple H.

Batista sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Almost a week had passed without incident, but who could say that this uneasy truce wasn't just another one of Triple H's mind games; aimed at lulling him into a false sense of security? Or maybe the Game was merely wearing him down by keeping him ever-vigilant, awaiting an attack that would never come. Or maybe Triple H really _had_ stopped, and this sense of foreboding was just part of his own paranoia. The Animal gritted his teeth. Whatever it was, it was working.

"Dave?" Elektra's voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the close confines of the rental car. Batista looked over at her to see the gray-eyed Diva staring at him, concern reflecting in her pale irises. "Is everything all right?"

Batista smiled, his face softening. He reached over and touched her chin. "Yeah...it's just been a long week."

"Dave." Elektra's tone became matter-of-fact. "For being a part of Evolution for so long... you sure are a terrible liar." Batista didn't know how to respond to this rapid discernment of the truth. He didn't have to, because Elektra wasn't finished. "It's not just tonight. You've been like this ever since last week. I don't know...like you're keeping me at a distance or something." She unbuckled her seatbelt, turning toward him. "And I know you're going to try and say that it's nothing, that it's not because of me...but it is. You're acting this way because of me."

Elektra stopped and looked out through the windshield, studying the concrete wall in front of them. "Dave, I wish to God that things hadn't happened the way they did. If I could go back and change them, I would, but I _can't_. I guess what I'm trying to say is..." She gazed at Batista again. "Don't shut me out." she whispered.

Instead of answering, Batista reached across and took hold of her wrist, tugging her out of her seat and pulled her over until she was practically lying across his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her head on his chest. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "After tonight, things will change. Tonight, Bischoff's going to make a decision about the World Heavyweight Championship. Once he does, Hunter will be so busy thinking about how to bring the title back to Evolution that he'll forget all about you."

* * *

The evening did not progress exactly as Batista had predicted. In true Bischoff fashion, the newly returned General Manager chose to wait until the very end of Raw to make his decision about the World Heavyweight title. All night, the participants of the ill-fated Triple Threat match presented their case to Bischoff, each claiming that _they_ most deserved the coveted title belt. The General Manager listened politely, but in the end, simply asked all three men to come out to the ring. 

And for Triple H, that meant coming out with the rest of Evolution in tow.

Like a Pavlov dog salivating at a bell, the fans booed when Evolution's music hit. The Game walked out first, his features set in a blank mask of disapproval. Flair was right behind, looking back and forth at the crowd, sneering at those who refused to cheer on the man he had dubbed "the best wrestler in the business". Batista and Elektra brought up the rear; Elektra more than a little anxious. Bischoff's decision would indirectly determine Triple H's next plan of attack regarding her. In fact, this entire situation had become a real-life game of chess; forcing her to examine all the angles, to think three or four moves in advance. But unlike the board game, the losses in _this_ mental contest would be far more devastating.

Bischoff was already in the ring, Chris Benoit and Edge a few feet behind him. The two Superstars eyed Evolution with distrust; the General Manager with mild interest. Triple H stepped into the squared circle, his three companions following suit, and walked over to the far side, leaning between the ropes to retrieve a microphone from a more-than-apprehensive Lillian Garcia.

"Funny," Bischoff remarked casually. "I don't remember inviting Evolution to the ring."

The Game straightened up and turned around, raising the mic to his lips. "I thought you knew, Eric," he replied, smirking. "Triple H and Evolution...we're one and the same."

The General Manager glanced over at Batista and Elektra. "I see," he answered absently. His eyes slid down to their clasped hands. "Looks like a few things have changed since I've been away."

Triple H followed his gaze, and for just a heartbeat or two, his face burned with a searing hatred. Elektra instinctively moved closer to Batista, putting one hand on his bicep. But the moment passed, and the Game's features reassembled themselves into his customary scowl. "Cut the crap, Eric," he growled. "I take it you brought us out here to name _someone_ the World Heavyweight Champion." He paused, studying his two former opponents. "But before you do, let me remind you just who the hell I am. I walked _into_ that match with the title. No one pinned me. No one made me tap out." The crowd's boos were deafening; Triple H had to shout to make himself heard. "This vacating the title is a load of crap. You should be give _me_ the–"

He was quickly drowned out by the protests of Edge and the Rabid Wolverine. Flair joined the fray, bellowing that the Cerebral Assassin had been cheated. Only Batista remained silent, holding Elektra's hand a little bit tighter.

"All right, all right!" Bischoff tried to reassert himself amidst the chaos. "_Shut up_!" he finally screamed. Amazingly, his command worked; everyone's mouth snapped shut like a steel trap. The General Manager looked around at the various Superstars, glaring. "_I'm_ the GM around here; _I _call the shots, remember! _No one_ is getting the World Heavyweight Championship tonight–" This sparked another round of shouting, so Bischoff raised his voice. "_Or_ the next night! _Or _the next! In fact–" He stopped, presumably to catch his breath. "In fact, that title is going to _stay_ vacated until the next Raw pay-per-view. That will be New Year's Revolution, and the Championship will be contested...inside the _Elimination Chamber_!"

This announcement was enough to quell the Superstars' arguing and evoke a collective gasp from the crowd. The men looked around at each other, the wheels already turning behind their sour expressions. The Elimination Chamber was undoubtably one of the most punishing matches in the WWE; the last man to walk out of it would deserve to be the World Heavyweight Champion.

Bischoff smirked, knowing that he had finally regained control. "In that match will be..._Triple H_!" The Game's scowl grew even deeper. "_Edge_!" The former Intercontinental Champion ran one hand anxiously through his long blond hair. "_Chris Benoit_!" The Rabid Wolverine's only response was a curt nod. "_Chris Jericho_!" This brought a weak pop from the fans. But Bischoff wasn't done yet. "_Batista_!" he crowed, staring at the Animal.

At the utterance of that three-syllable word, the other Superstars in the ring peered over at the six-foot-five, three-hundred-seventeen pound beast standing quietly in the corner. Elektra pressed her hand over her mouth, unable to keep a joyous smile off her face. She turned toward Batista, words of congratulations on her lips. But the Animal didn't even look at her. His face was fixed in an expression of intimidation. Elektra's smile slowly faded, and she turned back to the ring without saying anything.

Bischoff, meanwhile, had turned his focus on Triple H. Everyone was all ears now, waiting breathlessly to hear who the final entrant would be. From the way the General Manager was gloating, it must be a doozy. "And _Randy Orton_!" he finished triumphantly.

At the mention of Batista's name, the Game had flinched. But upon hearing that he would be facing the Legend Killer, too, the Cerebral Assassin's expression became livid. "No!" he shouted, shaking his head. "No, no, no!"

The arena burst into cheers and cries of astonishment. Orton had been absent from the title hunt since before Survivor Series; it seemed that finally, things were turning in his favor. Bischoff chuckled softly and shrugged, his mission accomplished. Easing himself between the Superstars, he stepped through the ropes and dropped down to the floor.

As soon as he did, Batista pulled Elektra to him. "Baby, get out of here," he whispered.

Elektra's brow furrowed in confusion. "W-what?" she stammered, her mind still replaying the Animal's reaction to his title shot.

Batista gently grasped her arms. "These guys are ready for a fight, and I don't want you in the middle of it. Go back to the women's locker room; I'll come get you when it's over." When Elektra still didn't move, he bent down, kissing her hard on the lips. "Get out of here _now_!" he murmured into her mouth.

This time, Elektra didn't argue, but eased herself between the ropes and out of the ring. Batista turned back toward the center, inadvertently locking eyes with Triple H. At first, he though the Game's burning glare was directed at him, but then, his gaze moved, and the Animal realized that he was staring at Elektra, watching her retreat up the ramp after Bischoff.

In that moment, Batista understood what Flair had been trying to warn him against. Whether he liked it or not, things had changed, and if he was going to keep Elektra safe, he was going to have to do something drastic.

* * *

Elektra was sitting outside the women's locker room on a folding chair when he returned. As he had anticipated, a fight _had_ broken out, and sure enough, it had not been pretty. The Animal winced, gingerly holding his side and trying not to hunch over. Being the recipient of a Spear tended to put a damper on one's day. 

Seeing him approach, Elektra jumped to her feet. "Dave!" she gasped, running toward him. She almost threw her arms around him, but stopped herself, not wanting to hurt him.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Batista assured her, attempting not to clench his teeth in pain. "Just a little bruised, that's all." He glanced behind her at the chair. "I thought I told you to wait inside."

Elektra shook her head. "I'm sorry, I couldn't–I was too worried about you." She stepped back, eying him critically, her eyes drifting down to his ribs. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Of course," Batista replied. He took her hand in his, his fingers entwining with hers. "C'mon, let's find someplace a little more private. Somewhere we can talk."

They walked through the back hallways of the arena until they arrived at one devoid of equipment or crew members, far enough away so they wouldn't be overheard or disturbed by passing Superstars. Batista halted, and taking Elektra by the shoulders, pushed her gently back against the wall. With both hands, he ran his fingers through her long dark hair, gazing into her eyes. Moving a little closer, he cupped her cheek in one hand and pulled her against him, kissing her passionately. Elektra kissed him back, running her hands down his chest, feeling white-hot electricity course through her body.

When they finally pulled apart, she smiled suddenly, unable to contain her happiness any longer. "Oh my God, Dave, you got it! You finally got your title shot!" She wrapped her arms around his neck, tiptoeing up to embrace him. "I'm so happy for you." she murmured.

Instead of holding her, however, Batista reached up and gently disentangled her arms, pulling her back. He stared at her without speaking, watching her expression grow serious, then nervous. "Dave...what's going on?" she asked cautiously. "Your first World Title match...and you're acting like you don't even care. What are you not telling me?" She reached up, her fingers grazing his temple, trailing down his cheek to trace the line of his jaw. "Talk to me." she finished.

Batista looked into her silvery eyes, unconsciously taking a deep breath. His voice was low, as though he was trying to mask his emotions. "If I asked you to do something...would you do it?"

Elektra peered at him for several seconds, puzzled. Finally, she nodded. "Of course."

"Even if it didn't make sense?" Batista pressed. "If I seemed like the world's biggest jerk for asking it?"

The wariness had reappeared in Elektra's face. "Dave..." she answered slowly. "You're scaring me..."

Batista knew that he was treading on dangerously thin ice, that he should stop and reassure her, but he rushed on anyway. "What if I asked you to stay away from me? Just until New Year's Revolution?"

Elektra flinched as though she'd been slapped. Her whole body grew still and when she spoke, her voice was tightly controlled. "Define 'stay away'." she managed to say.

Just the look on her face made Batista want to stop and forget the whole thing, but he couldn't. He had to finish, and deal with the consequences afterward. "We don't travel together, we don't talk to one another, we pretend that we don't know each other until this Elimination Chamber match is over."

Elektra's face was ashen, and she slumped back against the wall, her knees buckling. Tears glittered in her eyes, and slowly rolled down her cheeks. "Is this what you couldn't tell me in the car?" she whispered. "That you're breaking up with me?" She swiped at her face, but it was useless against the flow of tears. "I can't say that I blame you," Her tone was bitter, her voice cracking under the weight of emotion. "How can you go after the World Heavyweight Championship when you're worrying about your girlfriend's psycho ex–"

Batista grabbed her arms, pulling her to him and holding her against his chest. She struggled at first, but eventually, her body went limp. "Would you just listen to me?" he interrupted roughly. "I'm not breaking up with you. I _love_ you. Nothing's going to change that, not even Hunter. All I'm asking you to do is pretend for a little while." He felt her start to shake, and it sent a bolt of agony through his heart. "Goddammit, baby...do you think that I _like_ this idea? It kills me, being away from you." He pulled her back to face him, sliding his hands up her arms to caress her neck, eventually coming to rest on her face. "But this match...it's changed everything. I'm not just Hunter's ally anymore; I'm his competition. And he's going to treat me just like any other opponent in the ring." He brought his face closer to hers. "Triple H wins matches by finding his opponents' weaknesses...and he knows that I've got only one weakness."

Elektra trembled, a brief quiver that rippled through her whole body. "_Me_." she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Batista nodded. "Exactly. As long as you're with me, he's going to come after you. I'm not letting you get hurt because of me."

Elektra shook her head violently. "No...no, it doesn't matter." The bitterness had crept back in. "It doesn't change the fact that you're leaving me."

Batista gently kissed her forehead. "Baby, I'm not leaving." He looked down into her eyes. "I'll just be watching from a distance, that's all." His attempt at a joke fell flat when he saw the utter heartbreak in her expression.

"As soon as you're gone, he'll come after me," Elektra's voice was flat, lifeless. "It doesn't matter where I hide; he'll find me, and he'll hurt me, and no one will do _shit_, just like before–"

"No, he _won't_." Batista interrupted, his voice hard as stone. "He doesn't care about you or me; it's only when we're together that he feels threatened. It's like you always said; he's never understood why we're in love." He let his arms drop down, taking both of her hands in his. "Baby, I wish there was another way, but there isn't. Not unless–" He stopped, as a new possibility took shape within his brain. He gripped Elektra's hands a little harder. "Unless I go to Bischoff and ask him to pull me out of the Elimination Chamber match."

Elektra's features instantly transformed themselves into an expression of shock and disbelief. "_What_?" she stammered. "Dave...this is a _World Title_ shot."

"I know that," Batista answered. "And believe me, I'd love to win the title, but I'm not going to sacrifice you just to get it."

Tears shone in Elektra's eyes again. "You'd give that up...for me? But why?" she murmured.

"Because you're more important to me than a Championship belt." Batista replied, squeezing her hands to emphasize his point.

Elektra looked away, blinking quickly. Batista couldn't tell if she was crying, because she soon turned back to him, a newfound resoluteness in her face. "Hunter'll never believe it if we just split up. The break-up has to be public."

Batista just stared at her, his mouth hanging open slightly, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. Elektra continued. "It doesn't have to be in front of him; just as long as a few Superstars are there to witness it, the news will get back to him. And _no one_ can know what we're planning. If even one person knows the truth and Hunter finds out, it's all over." She finally noticed Batista's astonished expression and smiled wryly. "Don't look so surprised; I learned from the best, remember?" She leaned up, her mouth against his ear. "You don't want me getting hurt because of you? Well, I'm not letting you give up a title shot because of me."

"Elektra..." Batista was momentarily lost for words.

The silver-eyed Diva pulled back until her mouth was practically touching his. "Let me make this clear," she whispered. "I'm not doing this because I want to–I'm doing it because you asked me to...and because I love you."

Batista didn't answer, couldn't answer. Instead, he pushed her against the wall, kissing her, devouring the sweet softness of her lips. He put his hands on her waist, the heat of her skin almost burning him. Elektra moaned, and the Animal was seized by a raw primal need, the desire to take her right there in the hallway. As though she could read his thoughts, he felt her hands traveling down his abdomen, sliding inside his wrestling trunks...and then, without warning, she took hold of him.

Now it was Batista's turn to moan, as her hand moved up and down the full length of him. He was hard, aroused. Pushing up Elektra's skirt, he fumbled with the hem of her underwear, trying to peel the garment from her body. He felt Elektra's eyes on him, and attempted to talk, to express his desire in words. "I want you..." was all he could get out.

Elektra put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down into another intense kiss. "I know," she whispered into his mouth. Pulling back, she tugged at his trunks, freeing him, then stripped off her panties, backing against the wall, her eyes boring into his.

In what felt like one fluid motion, Batista lifted her up, wedging himself between her legs and sliding inside her. Elektra gasped, wrapping her legs around his body, trying to pull him deeper into her. Batista's fingers dug into her skin as he thrust into her, harder and harder. If he was still hurting, he wasn't showing it now. She raked her fingernails across his back, feeling pleasure mingle with pain, forming a new singular sensation. The orgasm tore through her body, driving everything else from her mind. All that mattered was this place and this one moment in time. All that mattered was her and Dave Batista.

* * *

Triple H leaned back leisurely in his leather easy chair, folding his hands together. "So there you have it," he concluded, a satisfied smile spreading across his bearded face. "Five thousand dollars...plus a guaranteed number-one contender's spot when I win the World Heavyweight Championship...on the condition that at New Year's Revolution, you _take out_ Dave Batista." 

The Legend Killer stretched out his long legs, crossing one ankle over the other. "Ten thousand," he countered with a smile of his own. "And _if_ you win the title."

The Game subtly ignored the latter half of Orton's statement. "That's a pretty steep fee," he remarked.

"Yeah, well," Orton replied. "This is the _Animal_ we're talking about, not some cruiserweight off of SmackDown." He sat up. "But don't worry; you're _Triple H_. I'm sure you can afford it."

Triple H considered the offer for a few seconds. "Seventy-five hundred," he finally answered. "That...the title shot...and Elektra."

At the mere mention of the Diva's name, Orton's blue eyes smoldered with anger and lust. "Tempting..." he mused. "But I would have thought that you weren't finished punishing that bitch."

"I'm not," the Game replied. "I just decided it would be more fun to watch you play with her. Consider her a bonus." He leaned forward, his smile vanishing. "Just make sure that you make it slow. I want her to _suffer_."

Orton grinned. "Are you kidding? By the time I'm done with her, she'll be _begging_...for more."

Triple H grimaced with mild disgust. "Charming," He stared hard at the Legend Killer. "So...do we have a deal?"

Orton nodded. "I think we do." The Game extended his hand and the Legend Killer accepted it, sealing the unholy bargain between them.

Triple H released his grip and rose to his feet. His face was wiped clean of emotion. "Remember, when I said take him out, I meant _take him out_. Break some bones, tear a muscle or two, give him a concussion–hell, cripple the son-of-a-bitch for all I care. You're both inside a giant metal cage; use your goddamn imagination. Just make sure that when the match is over, the Animal is out of action _indefinitely_."

Orton's confident grin became an evil sneer. "Don't worry," he repeated assuringly. "At New Year's Revolution–I'll end Batista's _career_."


	35. Chapter 35: Happy Holidays

**Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait; I was struck by a _crippling_ bout of writer's block. Anyway, as always, read and (hopefully) review, and thank you so much for taking time to ready my story!  
**

* * *

Chapter 35: Happy Holidays

Soon after the huge World Title announcement on Monday Night Raw, Superstars from both brands headed home to spend the next week and a half with their families for the holidays. For Elektra, it was a much-needed reprieve; a chance to temporarily push aside the chaos that seemed to rule her life. Granted, she would also need the free time to formulate her latest plan of defense against Triple H, but Elektra forced those thoughts from her mind. She was not going to let trepidation of the Game ruin her holiday.

She was spending Christmas Eve and Day with her family; something she was looking forward to, since she hadn't seen any of them in almost six months. It wasn't until she had really started traveling the indie circuit that she realized how much she had taken for granted when she lived at home. Now, a daily phone call was all she could manage, and it was never enough to satisfy the deep longing within her, the need to recapture some of that childhood innocence.

Christmas with her family...and prior to that, two precious days with the man she loved. Elektra had expected to be separated from Batista for the entire length of time, so when he offered to travel up and stay with her for a while, she couldn't refuse.

After all, a week and a half is a very short time, and it wouldn't be long before they would have to start pretending to be enemies.

Originally from south central Pennsylvania, Elektra had bought a house in Maryland, a few minutes' drive from Annapolis. The home was a simple two-story affair located in a residential neighborhood, mostly populated by soccer moms and housewives. Ever since she had moved in, Elektra was painfully aware of the vast gap between their lifestyle and hers. These women did not get up at dawn, travel all day, eat at whatever roadside stop or airport eatery presented itself, and then get the crap kicked out of them in front of crowds of people four days a week. To them, this did not constitute a "normal" life. But after six years on the road and almost one year with the WWE, Elektra had come to view normal as the exception, not the rule.

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening. Elektra was in her bedroom, applying a layer of dark pink lip gloss, when she heard the doorbell ring. Setting down the tube of color, she padded down the hall in her bare feet towards the railing overlooking the first floor. Putting both hands on the dark wood rail, she leaned over, peering down towards the front door. She was about to jog down the steps; actually had her left foot raised, when she remembered that she was still dressed only in her bra and panties. If this had been an arena, she wouldn't have cared, since a lingerie-clad Diva was nothing new to anyone. But this was a residential street, and the last thing she needed was to be on the receiving end of a tirade from some angry mother about how she was corrupting the moral fiber of their children by answering the door in her underwear.

Swearing softly under her breath, she edged back down the hallway, out of view of the first floor windows. Taking a deep breath, she yelled out in her best ringside voice: "_It's open_!"

For a moment, she wondered if Batista had heard her. Then she heard the knob turn and the door swing open, followed by the Animal's deep rough voice: "Hello? Elektra?"

"I'm upstairs!" Elektra called as she walked quickly back to her bedroom. "Come on up!" She snatched her black dinner dress off the bed, pulling it over her head and tugging it down to its full length. The garment was made from a gauzy material, clinging invitingly to her curves and falling in slightly uneven layers down to just above her knee. The bodice was cut in a heart shape, emphasizing her cleavage, and held up by two thin shoulder straps. She had just finished zipping up the dress when Batista appeared in the doorway.

Just the sight of him standing there in the golden light, the collar of his dark overcoat turned up against the cold, took her breath away. Her pulse raced; beating out a frantic reminder of just how much she'd missed him. From the look on his face, she seemed to have had a similar effect on him.

Stepping forward hesitantly, Elektra closed the space between her and the Animal, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his chest. His clothes still carried the chill of the winter night, but his hand was warm as he put his arm around her shoulders. Elektra lifted her head back up, gazing at him. Batista bent down, his mouth gently connecting with hers. They stood there for a long while, content to merely hold and be held.

Finally, the Animal pulled back, staring at her tenderly. The sharp planes of his features softened as he smiled. "Hey," he murmured.

"Hey," Elektra whispered, smiling in return. She gazed into his eyes, the rest of the world fading away as she began to lose herself in their rich depths.

Batista glanced back toward the doorway, his arm drifting down to her waist. "You know," he remarked casually. "I could have anyone out there. I could have been an axe murderer for all you knew."

Elektra scoffed. "In _this _ neighborhood? My neighbors probably watched you pull up, peeking out between their blinds. If they even _remotely _ thought that you posed a threat, they would have called the police five minutes ago." She leaned her head against his arm. "Besides...it was better than answering the door in my underwear."

Batista grinned mischievously. "Really? I wouldn't have minded." He slid his hand lightly up her arm, and Elektra felt shivers travel the length of her spine. Her face burned; she must be blushing.

She moved back a step, trying to quell her desire before it got out of control. "Yeah, but my neighbors would have given me hell." Elektra slowly pulled herself away from the Animal, walking back over to the vanity table as she talked. "When I first moved in here, none of them really knew what to think of me. Here I am, young, single, gone four days out of the week. You know, you don't have to just stand there. Take off your coat, sit down; it'll take me a few minutes to get ready." This last sentence was directed at Batista. Elektra picked up a pair of silver chandelier earrings, looking into the mirror as she inserted them into her ears. "Anyway, all it took was one teenage boy for everyone to find out what I _really _do for a living. Now, half of them think I'm a whore. The other half are more sympathetic; they think that I'm a nice girl, but a little misguided, and I should really consider going back to school."

"And what do _you_ think?" Batista asked.

Elektra paused, both hands still at her left ear. She mulled over the question, fumbling with the clasp. "I think...that I don't really care what they think." she answered slowly. "I love what I do, and if I had listened to any of them, I never would have met–" She turned, and her voice faltered suddenly. "–you." she finished in a surprised whisper.

Batista had tossed his coat on the bed. He wore dark pinstripe slacks and a dark charcoal turtleneck sweater. In his hand, the one he had surreptitiously kept behind his back, the one he now extended toward her, he held a bouquet of flowers, carefully wrapped in green paper. "These are for you." was all he said.

With tears stinging her eyes, Elektra reverently accepted the blooms, pushing back the paper to examine them closer. The flowers consisted of three white long-stemmed roses, the edges of the petals tinged with a vivid magenta hue. Elektra touched one gently, feeling the silken smoothness of the delicate petals beneath her fingertips.

"There's some special name for them that I forgot." Batista continued. "All I know is that they reminded me of you."

Elektra looked down at the floor, blinking quickly before the tears could fall. "Thank you," she managed to say, her throat closing up with emotion. "Thank you...they're beautiful."

Batista smiled again, and the warmth of it seemed to fill the whole room. "So are you."

This time, Elektra almost did break down, but she managed to keep herself together. "Well," she finally replied. "Let me put these in water before they become beautiful and dead." Holding the roses in one hand and Batista's hand in the other, she led him down the hallway to the stairs. As they descended to the first floor, the Animal glanced over at the sparsely furnished living room, boxes still piled up and framed pictures propped against the wall. "So..._how_ long have you lived here again?"

Elektra didn't glance back. "About nine months. Why?"

Batista chuckled, his tone good-natured. "No reason...I guess I just wasn't expecting the inside of your house to look like a war zone."

Elektra reached the bottom of the stairs and spun around, her mouth dropping open. "Dave Batista, you take that back!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand loose and lightly slapping his arm. The Animal clutched his forearm in mock pain, making a big show out of being wounded. Elektra went on. "It's not like I'm home seven days a week–or that I have enough time the three that I am. I was hoping to have it done by Christmas...now I'm aiming for July."

"Hey, hey!" Batista stepped off the last stair, gently backing her against the wall. "I know that, baby. I'm just playing with you." He leaned forward, pressing his body against hers, his lips grazing her temple. "I'm just playing." he reiterated softly.

Elektra's breath caught in her throat when his mouth touched her skin. She could feel the desire, the yearning for him to take her, building up inside her, making rational thought hard if not impossible. But as much as her body was screaming at her to give in, she forced her mind back to the simple task at hand. It was obvious by now how the evening was going to turn out; the very least she could do was put a few roses in water.

They entered the kitchen, as similarly unpacked as the living room; the bare necessities laid out and the rest still in boxes. Elektra was a lousy cook, so the room was used for storage more than it was for the preparation of food. She headed over to the cabinets above the sink, opening them and standing on tiptoe to peer into the upper niches.

Batista approached from behind, putting one hand on her hip and reaching up with the other to pull a white china pitcher from the top shelf. "Here, how about this?" The Animal stuck the container under the faucet, filling it with several inches of water while Elektra unwrapped the flowers. He set the pitcher down on the counter, and the gray-eyed Diva carefully arranged the three white-and-pink blooms inside. As she pulled her hand back, she accidentally pricked her finger on a stray thorn, piercing the skin.

"Ow!" Elektra yelped, snatching her hand away. She was about to jam it in her mouth out of reflex, but Batista gently took hold of her wrist, lifting her hand up and pressing his fingers to the wounded digit. As Elektra stood there, almost breathless, he kissed her palm, then her wrist, then, turning back to look at her, draped her arm over his shoulder and put both of his hands on her waist, pulling her close. Elektra brought her other arm up, encircling his neck.

Batista tilted his head down, his lips brushing her jaw. "I know that we planned on dinner," he remarked quietly. "But to be honest, baby, I'm not really that hungry right now."

Elektra ran her hands down his back, feeling the soft wool of the sweater and the firm muscle beneath. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the image of how good he'd look without it. "Me neither," she answered, her voice husky.

Batista moved his hands up her arms, slowly sliding off one of her shoulder straps. "So...what do you suggest we do instead?" he asked teasingly as he kissed her neck, working his way down to her shoulder. His tongue trailed lightly across her skin. The mutual desire that they had been dancing around all evening had finally begun to overtake them.

Elektra shrugged subtly, the other strap coming loose and falling down her arm. The Animal lifted his head up and she stared into his eyes, seeing a hunger equal to her own. She smiled, a slow seductive curving of lips. "Well, I can think of a _few_ things..."

* * *

The soft but persistent press of daylight against her eyelids finally roused Elektra from her contented slumber. She opened them slowly, almost surprised to see the pale gray light of mid-morning streaming through her windows. Funny how the concept of sleeping past eight in the morning seemed so alien to her. But then, that was to be expected when an "easy week" for her meant staying within the same time zone for more than a day. 

Elektra stretched slowly, allowing her body to wake up. She felt the light pressure of something draped across her hip, and looking down, saw that it was Batista's arm, his hand resting protectively against her abdomen. Elektra placed her hand over his, marveling at how much bigger it was than hers. It was amazing how someone so powerful could also be so gentle at the same time. Carefully, Elektra rolled over onto her opposite hip, gazing tenderly at the sleeping Animal.

Batista had his head pillowed on his other arm, his huge body rising and falling with each breath. Elektra inched closer, not wanting to wake him, wanting to freeze this single moment of absolute peace for as long as she could. Putting one hand on his chest, she gently kissed his lower lip. Arching her head up, she pressed her lips to his forehead.

The Animal's eyes fluttered open, and his hand moved from her hip up to her cheek, his fingers sliding back into her hair. He pulled her into a soft tender kiss, then drew back, staring into her eyes. "Mornin', baby." he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Morning," Elektra replied softly, her mouth curling into a smile. She leaned in to kiss him again, this one just a little longer and a little more passionate than before.

"You know," Batista remarked when they pulled apart a second time. "I could get used to this–sleeping in a real bed, waking up next to you."

Elektra trailed her hand along his bicep, tracing the lines of his tattoo with her index finger. "Quit joking; you get those things every week."

"Yeah, but not at the same time," Batista replied, holding her against his chest and wrapping both arms around her. Elektra could hear his heart beating. The sound of it was soothing, like listening to the roar of ocean waves. "Besides, whenever we're on the road, there's always something to do, somewhere to be. Here...there's just us." His mouth was against her hair. "I wish...that it could always be like this."

Something in the way he said it made Elektra's pulse race, as she considered all the possible double meanings that one phrase could contain. Turning her head, she kissed his chest, slowly working her way up to his neck, then to his mouth. Her lips hovered over his.

"Keep this up, baby, and you're going to start getting me excited." Batista whispered, his breathing growing harder.

"Really?" Elektra answered playfully. "I have ways to remedy that." She kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth to meet his. She slid her leg over his body and Batista rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top. Elektra leaned down, putting one hand on each of his massive shoulders. "Dave Batista, I believe I've just pinned your shoulders down. Is the _Animal_ just going to lie there and let himself get beaten by a _Diva_?"

Batista grinned. "That depends...what do I get for letting you win?"

Elektra bent down even further, caressing his chest. "Everything..." she murmured, pushing her long hair over one shoulder.

Batista reached up, touching her neck, tangling his hands in her hair, pulling her to him. Their mouths were just about to meet...when Elektra's cell phone exploded in a clamor of digitized sounds.

Elektra started, her body freezing for half a second. With a tiny groan of irritation, she sat up, still straddling the Animal, and stretched over toward the night table, her fingers closing around the small piece of electronics. There were some moments when technology was just not her friend, and this happened to be one of them. Peering at the screen, she glanced at Batista, putting her finger to her lips. "Behave yourself–it's my mother." She flipped the phone open and held it to her ear. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, honey," The small speaker on the phone made her mother's voice sound tinny. "Did I wake you?"

"No, no, I was awake already," Elektra replied. She locked eyes with Batista, and he smiled devilishly, running his hands up her thighs. She mouthed "_Stop_!" and continued her conversation. "I can never sleep late anymore, anyway." She paused. "So, what's up?"

"Well, I was talking to your father and he'd really love it if you could come up for dinner tonight. Your sister's back from school, and we'd all just love to see you."

"That sounds great, Mom," As Elektra spoke, Batista eased himself up onto his elbow, then pushed his body into a sitting position. She scooted back a little to accommodate him. The Animal grabbed her legs, extending them to their full length and pulling her closer until her body was molded against his. His hands traced delicate patterns across her back. His mouth was on her ear, his tongue teasing her earlobe. As difficult as it was, Elektra forced herself to focus on the conversation, trying to keep her voice normal. "But, unfortunately, I have a guest visiting for the next two days, and it wouldn't be fair to him–"

"_Him_?" A playful note had crept into her mother's voice. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about _Batista_, would you?"

Batista had moved down to her neck, and Elektra was finding it almost impossible to concentrate. Luckily, she was saved from any potential embarrassment by the Animal, who smoothly snatched the cell phone from her hand, quickly kissing her on the cheek. Elektra was too surprised to react. Batista lifted the phone to his ear, staring at Elektra, and touching her chin with his free hand. "Hello, this is Dave Batista. Yes ma'am, _that _ Batista. You see, I couldn't help but overhear Elektra talking and was just wondering what you asked her." He listened, his mouth curving up in a smile. "Uh-huh. No, on the contrary, I'd love to come up. What time? This afternoon, around three? That's fine; we'll be there. Should I put Elektra back on the phone? No? Well, then, we'll see you this afternoon. Uh-huh. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bed, turning his attention back to Elektra and wrapping both arms around her waist.

"You're _horrible_!" Elektra blurted out. She was trying not to choke on her laughter. "What were you trying to do, make me have an orgasm in front of my _mother_?"

"Nah," Batista replied teasingly. "Just trying to turn you on." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Did it work?"

Elektra smiled, her expression coy. "No," she joked, putting both hands on his broad chest.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to try harder, then." Batista remarked, sliding his hands from her waist to other more intimate spots. Elektra arched her head back as his fingers found their mark. Batista put his mouth against her ear. "How about now?" he whispered, as the silver-eyed Diva began to moan with pleasure.

* * *

It was late evening by the time Elektra pulled back into her driveway, with Batista riding shotgun. She put the car in park, turning off the engine. Both she and the Animal were laughing. 

"Oh, God!" Batista managed to say between chuckles. "When your sister looks at _me_ and asks point-blank: 'So, did you guys fuck yet?'–"

"–And my dad spits coffee across the table–" Elektra interjected, still trying to catch her breath.

"But the best part had to be your mom; who watches all of this with a straight face, then stands up and asks, 'Okay, who wants some pie?'." Batista finished.

"No, no!" Elektra contradicted. "That _wasn't_ it! We would have been _fine _ if _you_ hadn't chosen that moment to do your impression of the Rock, and announce that yes, you _would_ like a slice of poontang pie! God, once you did that, it was all over!" She burst into a fresh burst of laughter.

"Oh, come on!" Batista scoffed. "Everyone loved it! Even your mom was laughing!"

They stared ahead at the house, their laughter slowly fading into silence as they became serious. Elektra turned her body toward the Animal's. "They like you, you know? Even my dad–although I don't know why he kept challenging you to an arm-wrestling contest." She smiled briefly. "They ask about you all the time when I call; you know, 'How's Batista? How's Dave doing?'. They think you're good for me. And I'm not–I'm not saying this to scare you or anything; it's just–" She faltered for a second. "They know that it's been a long time since I've been happy. I think they've always known that something bad happened to me all those years ago, and it hasn't gotten any easier, with me being on the road so much. So to see you with me, to see how happy you make me...it reassures them. It takes some of their anxiety away. I mean..." She looked out the windshield. "I'm twenty-six years old, but I'm still their little girl, you know?"

"Do they know about Triple H?" Batista asked, and as soon as he did, he regretted it. The Game was the last person he wanted in her thoughts.

Elektra shook her head vehemently. "No–and I don't want them to. I don't want them to know what he did to me." She stared at her lap. "Except for you, they think that everything they see on the show is scripted, and that behind the scenes, we're all just one big happy family. And I let them believe that. They don't need to know that some things are just as real as they seem." She shivered, and abruptly changed the subject. "Let's go in; it's starting to get cold out here."

She started to open her door, but Batista took hold of her arm, gently tugging her back. With his other hand, he reached into the pocket of his overcoat, pulling out a small black velvet box.

Elektra felt her heart leap into her throat. She tried to talk, but words refused to come out. The Animal took one of her hands and set the box in her palm, closing her fingers around it. "I would have given this to you earlier, but I wanted to wait until it felt right. And I think that's right now." Batista leaned over, gently kissing her cheek. "Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered.

For a second, Elektra was motionless; all she could feel was the soft crush of velvet against her hand. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, she willed her limbs back into action. Switching on the overhead light, she pushed back the top of the box with her thumbs. Nestled inside was a plain silver band. Elektra carefully extracted it, holding it between thumbs and forefingers to examine it closer.

Batista gently took it front her, rotating the ring so the inner circle caught the light. "Look at the inside."

Elektra did so, and saw, delicately inscribed in clear flowing script, the words: "_I Love You_".

The gift was so simple, but yet it resonated with such emotional power that for a moment, Elektra couldn't even breathe. A lump formed in her throat, momentarily making speech impossible. "Oh my God..." she finally whispered, her voice shaking and filled with awe. Tears flowed freely down her face, but she made no move to brush them away. "Dave...oh my God..." Unbuckling her seatbelt, she reached over, grabbing the Animal and pulling him into a hard passionate kiss. Batista cupped her face in his hands, the heat of his body radiating through hers as he kissed her back.

They finally parted; Batista touching his nose to hers. Elektra closed her eyes, just enjoying the nearness of him. "It's beautiful," she murmured, trying to find the right words. How could you express something that could only be felt? "This is the most beautiful gift that anyone's ever gotten me." She opened her eyes and met his. "You don't know how much this means to me."

Batista's thumb touched her cheek, wiping away the tears. "I got that for you so that, whatever happens next week...even if I can't say it, you'll always know how I feel about you."

"Dave..." Elektra whispered, her voice beginning to break again. Looking down, she slid the ring onto her right hand, then glanced back up at him. "Thank you..."

This time, Batista pressed his lips to hers, and the kiss was soft and slow. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, increasing his desire for her even more. He gently slid his tongue into her mouth, letting it caress hers. Elektra moaned softly, a barely audible sound, but it was enough to inflame the hunger of the Animal. Resting one hand on her cheek, he moved his mouth down to her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. Slipping his fingers under the collar of her shirt, he moved the fabric back an inch or two, exposing the line of her collarbone. Dipping his mouth down to that small patch of bare skin, he found and unfastened the first button on her shirt.

Elektra leaned her head back, her eyes drifting shut. It didn't matter that they were in a parked car in the middle of her driveway; she wanted Batista just as much as he wanted her. No matter how many times he made love to her, it always felt like the first time; the night she had first given herself to him emotionally and physically.

She opened her eyes again, and looking out the window, spotted the one thing guaranteed to distract her even from Batista. "Holy shit!" she cried out, her tone excited.

Batista shot his head up. "What?" he blurted out, sounding confused and a little bit concerned. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Elektra looked at him, her face lit up with an inner radiance of joy. "Nothing's wrong; it's _snowing_!" Throwing open the car door, she jumped out, running around the vehicle to her small front lawn. She whirled around and around like a little kid, laughing. Batista opened his own door, stepping out and shutting it behind him. He couldn't tear his eyes off Elektra; he had never seen her this euphoric. She held her hand up toward the sky, trying to catch the small flakes, her face ecstatic. Snowflakes glittered in her hair like tiny transient diamonds.

In that one moment, the years were stripped away, and Batista saw the girl she had once been, before some cocksucker in a grimy locker room had forced her to grow up the hard way. Gazing at her in that moment, the Animal fell even deeper in love with her.

Closing the space between them in a few paces, he picked her up, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around. Now they were both laughing. When he finally set her down, Batista gazed into her eyes. They contained the same brilliance as the flakes of snow. Brushing one from her cheek, he kissed her, burying his hands in her hair. Elektra wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back, pressing her body against his.

They separated almost reluctantly, taking hold of each other's hands. Elektra looked toward the house. "Okay, I'm starting to freeze out here. Let's go in."

Batista grinned, ducking his head down to kiss her nose. "You go on ahead; I'll be inside in a minute." He stared up at the black sky. "It's been a long while since I've had time to appreciate something like this."

Elektra smiled and turned, heading back up the walk. Almost prancing up the front steps, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, leaving it open a crack.

As soon as she was out of sight, the Animal's good-natured smile vanished, as cleanly and completely as someone wiping chalk lines from a blackboard. His gaze moved from the door to the object that had caught his attention when they first pulled up; the one thing that Elektra, in her joy, had failed to notice.

The long white box had been wedged under the wrought iron railing, practically shoved into the bushes. Batista walked over and pried it free, carrying it off to the edge of the yard by a large elm tree. Pausing a second or two to steel himself, he pulled off the lid.

Arranged inside were about half a dozen red roses, blood red. The stems were long and free of thorns. Batista frowned, tilting the box back and forth, searching for a card, a note, _anything_ that would give him a clue as to the identity of the sender. Finally, he spotted it: a small white card tucked neatly under the base of the stems. The Animal extracted it, trying to read it in the faint light.

The card was blank except for two words: "_Happy Holidays_". There was no signature; only what appeared to be a scribble in the lower right-hand corner. But upon closer examination, he realized that it was in fact three letters: _H - H - H_.

A bolt of freezing cold shot through Batista's body. The box slipped from his numb hand, falling to the ground, the roses spilling out onto the grass like drops of blood. But the Animal didn't notice or care; all of his vision was tunneling inward to that small scrap of paper in his hand. Anyone else would have found the delivery innocuous; only Batista knew what it actually meant.

_I know where you are. I know where you live. I can find you any time that I want to; you'll never be safe from me._

The Animal's expression hardened, his features becoming like stone. Too bad Triple H hadn't anticipated _him_. Just let the Game try and threaten Elektra again; he would get to see first hand what a pissed-off Animal could do. Batista gritted his teeth. He almost wanted next week to roll around, just so he could watch Triple H fall victim to his own brand of mind games. The Animal clenched his fist, crumpling the card until it was nothing but a twisted wad of paper. "Happy fucking holidays," he muttered. Opening his hand, he let the small ball of paper fall and become lost in the sea of red petals.


	36. Chapter 36: Just Another Promo

Chapter 36: Just Another Promo

Elektra inched forward on the canvas seat of the makeup chair, twisting her hands in her lap. She stared vacantly at her reflection in the brightly lit vanity mirror, her silver eyes dull and glassy. She sat as still as a statue, but every few minutes, her limbs would move, occupying themselves with some trivial gesture—adjusting a bobby pin, smoothing back a stray strand of hair, applying another layer of lip gloss. But these actions were meaningless, physical reflexes devoid of purpose whose sole aim was to distract her attention from its ceaseless mental turmoil.

Christmas had been two days ago, and ever since then, Elektra had felt like dying. Anxiety over the success of this latest plan's success, plus the fear that had become a constant part of her daily life, had slowly but surely eaten away at her well-being, effectively ruining her holiday. Even Christmas Day had been a struggle; trying to put on a happy face for her family, never once hinting that her stomach was tying itself in granny knots.

And then there was the unavoidable fact that after tonight, she would not see Batista again for thirteen days. Worse, that for those thirteen long days, she would have to pretend to hate him. That, more than anything else, was what killed her inside. That was what made her feel as though someone was pouring battery acid on her heart.

The plan had actually been in motion since late afternoon. Elektra and the Animal had arrived at the arena in separate vehicles, and their greeting in the parking lot had been brusque, bordering on tense. Without displaying any affection toward each other, they headed to their respective locker rooms. Not even an hour had gone by before the entire roster was buzzing about possible cracks in the seemingly impenetrable relationship of Raw's newest power couple.

In a few minutes, Batista would join her here in the makeup room, and when they exited, they would execute the final stage of their strategy: a nasty and very public breakup.

Elektra felt as though she was sending Batista off to war, and in a sense, she was. In order to go to war with Triple H, you had to play by the Game's rules, and that meant giving him exactly what he needed to hear. The gray-eyed Diva had tried to rationalize by telling herself that this sacrifice was necessary for Batista to regain the Cerebral Assassin's trust; more importantly, that it was only temporary and after two weeks, things would go back to normal. But Elektra, try as she might, couldn't shake the idea that they would never go back; that the make-believe hatred between her and the Animal would somehow become real.

That possibility scared her even more than Triple H.

There was a soft knock on the door. Elektra looked up sharply, the sound jarring her uncomfortably back to the present. Sliding off the chair, she walked slowly over to the door, opening it a crack.

The Animal peered through from the hallway, his expression serious. "Hey, baby," he greeted in a low voice.

The silver-eyed Diva quickly opened the door wider, allowing Batista access to the makeup room. As soon as he was in, she shut the door behind him. Batista gently pulled her into his embrace, kissing the top of her head. "I'd ask you how you're doing," he murmured. "But from the look on your face, I'm guessing you feel as shitty as I do."

"Dave…" Elektra drew back, pressing her hands to his chest, staring up into his eyes. The expression on her face was filled with doubt and sadness. "I'm so scared… this could all blow up in our faces." She ducked her head down, staring at the floor. "If this doesn't work…Hunter will destroy us both."

"Hey," Batista put his finger under her chin, tilting her head up. "It's going to work, okay?" Elektra still didn't look convinced. "Listen to me, _it's going to work_." the Animal reiterated, more forcefully this time. "We both know Hunter: he only believes what he wants to believe. And the one thing he'd love to see more than anything else is the two of us apart." Batista caressed her face, trailing the tips of his fingers down her cheek. "Once this is over, once he thinks you're not a threat anymore; that I've finally come to my senses…he'll leave you alone. More importantly, _he'll let his guard down_. When that happens—" Batista's tender expression disappeared; replaced by one of cold intimidation. "—I'm gonna beat him at his own game. I'll let him think that I've got his back, but once we're inside that cage, I'm gonna take away his World Heavyweight Championship. And after it's over," The Animal wrapped his arms around Elektra's waist, pulling her close again. "I'm gonna have you come out to the ring, just so the great Triple H can see how he's been played all along. At New Year's Revolution, I'm gonna prove to him once and for all that I _am_ better than he is."

Elektra turned around, leaning back against the Animal, gazing at their reflected images. "It's a good plan," she admitted. "And there's no _logical_ reason why it shouldn't work. But knowing the Game…I have a feeling it's not going to be that simple."

Unfortunately, Batista didn't have an answer for her. After a minute or two passed, he spoke again, abruptly changing the subject. "Once we go through with this, you make sure that you always have an escort, all right? I don't care if you're just going to the bathroom; you find another Diva to drag along with you." He hesitated, and in that infinitely small pause, the Animal revealed his one true weakness: his love for her. "I don't want you wandering around by yourself once we're apart." he finished.

Elektra's expression didn't change, but her whole body began to tremble. "You mean, in case he still decides to come after me." she interjected, vocalizing the one thing both of them were thinking.

"Look, I don't care how good the plan is; I'm not going to give that bastard another opportunity to hurt you again," Batista replied, albeit a little harshly. "If he comes anywhere near you, this whole thing is off—"

"No," Elektra shook her head again, violently this time. "No, the plan stays, _regardless_." She saw surprise flash across the Animal's features, and turned around, gazing up at him. "This isn't just about you or me anymore; it's about the World Heavyweight Championship, too. You can't beat Triple H if you're worrying about me all the time."

"But after what happened last time—" Batista tried to protest.

"—it could happen again, I know." Elektra interrupted. "But I'm sick of running away from him." She stepped forward, leaning her head against the Animal's chest. "Look, I am _terrified_ of Hunter, all right? If you and Ric hadn't shown up…" She shuddered at the memory of her last encounter with the Game. "I don't even want to think about what he would have done to me; what he _still_ wants to do to me. But I've spent my entire _career_ being afraid of that man, and as long as he knows about that fear, he'll keep coming after me." She moved back, reaching up to touch Batista's cheek. "Don't you get it? It doesn't matter what _you_ do to him; in the end, the only person who can make it stop is _me_. Sooner or later, he's going to back me into a corner, and I'm going to have to make a choice: cower, like I've always done, or fight back. And I'm tired of cowering." Tears pooled in her eyes, but she fought them, biting her lip, pushing her emotions back inside her, into that little chamber where she had locked away her heart for ten months.

Without speaking, Batista grabbed her arms and pulled her into a kiss, one that was desperate and passionate and tender all at once. His lips moved over hers as though he would never get another chance to kiss her again, as though this was the last time they would ever hold one another. When they finally separated, gasping for breath, Elektra wanted to weep. Her body was already aching for him, somehow anticipating his absence.

Batista's mouth brushed lightly against her cheek. "Are you ready?" he whispered, his breath dancing across her skin like a warm breeze.

"No," Elektra admitted, her voice on the verge of cracking with emotion. Nevertheless, she stepped back, and taking hold of Batista's hand, slowly walked toward the door, feeling like a condemned prisoner traveling his final mile. She was about to grasp the knob when the Animal tugged at her hand, turning her back around. Reaching up, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, gazing at her with a mixture of tenderness and trepidation.

"Remember," he murmured. "Just think of it as—"

"—Another promo." Elektra cut in. "Only this time, it's not the fans we have to convince—"

"—It's everyone else." Batista concluded. He slid his hand around to the back of her head, pulling her close and kissing her cheek. "I love you," he whispered. "No matter what I say out there, you remember that."

"I love you, too." Elektra answered, pressing her body against his for an instant, wishing that time would just stop. She drew back, and fell silent as she and the Animal cast one last longing look at one another. Staring into each other's eyes, they gradually let their loving expressions transform into ones of impatience and annoyance; hiding their true feelings as completely as a performer hides his features behind a mask.

Elektra opened the door, signaling the start of the charade. Batista pushed her out into the hall; just enough to make her stumble. As she regained her footing, she cast a surreptitious glance at the hallway up ahead. On one side, the Intercontinental Champion Shelton Benjamin was stretching, most likely preparing for an upcoming Beat the Clock match-up. Along the opposite wall, Maria and Christy were chatting. Elektra lowered her gaze before any of them could realize they were being observed.

Grabbing her hand, the Animal pulled her roughly to her feet, tugging her impatiently down the hall. Digging her heels in, Elektra pulled her hand free, though not without some effort. "Let _go_ of me!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Christy look up.

Batista turned back toward her, scowling. "_Now_ what the hell's your problem?" he growled.

Elektra raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me? _My_ problem? My _problem_ is that you don't even come up and visit me over the holidays because you couldn't be _bothered_, but yet you still expect _me_ to accompany you to the ring like nothing's changed."

Batista rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Goddammit, I thought we were done having this argument." he muttered. He lowered his gaze, glaring at her. "Did it ever occur to you that I might be _busy_ over the holidays?"

Elektra, however, refused to back down. "Not even a _phone call_, Dave, on _Christmas Day_. It's like you fell off the face of the earth for ten days—"

"Hey!" the Animal interrupted. "Quit trying to make me the bad guy here! I sent you a gift!"

Elektra jammed her right hand in his face, fingers spread. Light glinted off the silver band. "Oh, yeah, big whup there. Nothing screams romance like a FedEx envelope." Her gray eyes narrowed. "You cheap bastard." she added in a low voice.

With the speed of a predator lunging for its prey, Batista grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him roughly. Elektra let out a small cry of astonishment as his fingers dug into her skin. At the far end of the hall, other Superstars had begun to gather, some halting in mid-stride to watch the altercation unfold.

"Keep your voice down," the Animal commanded, an undercurrent of menace in his voice. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Elektra tore herself free, clutching her upper arm. "You mean I'm embarrassing _you_." she spat. She stared at Batista, her expression furious. "Far be it from me to humiliate Evolution's Animal before his big qualifying match." The silver-eyed Diva took a step backward. "You know, ever since Bischoff put you in the Elimination Chamber, you've been strutting around here like you're God's gift to sports entertainment. Thinking you're better than everyone else…thinking you're better than me." She pointed her finger at Batista, the tip of her fingernail only a few inches from his face. "Just remember, Dave, what _I_ gave up to be with _you_, okay? I was the _Women's Champion_. I was with the _Game_. I—"

Batista swatted her hand away. "Don't flatter yourself," he interjected sarcastically. "You lost your title two months ago. How many title matches have you been in since then? Oh, that's right, _zero_." The Animal barged ahead before Elektra could answer. "And as for the Game…you were _desperate_ to leave him. You were ready to shack up with the first guy who came along, and unfortunately, that happened to be me."

Elektra's mouth opened and closed, as she struggled to regain her composure. "_Unfortunately_?" she managed to spit out. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

The Animal's mouth curled into a small sneer. "Let's just say that I'm beginning to think that Hunter was right about you."

There were a few gasps from the crowd. By now, at least half the roster lined the length of the hallway. Some of them were whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

Batista continued. "I get the first major title match of my career, and are you supportive? No. Instead, you stand there whining and complaining like a spoiled little bitch."

Elektra's mouth dropped open. "How _dare_ you!" she exclaimed. "You can't talk to me that way?"

"Why not?" Batista replied, his voice mocking. "Because I'm right?" By now, he had slipped completely into character. The expression on his face was unrecognizable. Elektra saw nothing of the man she knew and loved. _This_ was the Batista that everyone had warned her about. The man who took out Bill Goldberg. The man who had aligned himself with Evolution. The man who had dominated the competition without remorse or pity until she arrived. The Animal continued. "Admit it, you've _always_ thought that you're too good for me, just because you spent the first ten months of your career fucking the Cerebral Assassin. Well, guess what, babe? That doesn't make you better; it just makes you a _whore_."

Elektra's pale eyes widened. With all of the swiftness and force of a willow branch in the wind, she brought her hand up, nailing Batista across the face with a vicious slap that echoed along the corridor. "_Bastard_!" she whispered hoarsely.

The singular sound brought instant silence to the crowd of Superstars. If a pin had dropped at that moment, it would have sounded like a gunshot.

Elektra backed away, her chest heaving, her slender fingers curled into claws. When she spoke, her voice was low and controlled, but just barely. "Well, I guess you have one less thing holding you back," She paused for a fraction of a second. "_It's over_."

Batista's face hardened. "_Fine_." he retorted, his tone emotionless.

Elektra started to say something else, but snapped her mouth shut instead and spun around on her heel, heading toward the far end of the hallway with rapid strides.

"Yeah, that's right, just walk away like you always do!" the Animal called after her bitterly. "Once I win the World Title, you'll come crawling back."

Elektra halted, not turning around. "Fuck you," she spat.

"Sorry, we already played that game," Batista shot back. "So why don't you find someone else with a title belt and bang the shit out of them!"

This time, Elektra did spin back around to face him. Her expression was livid. "Maybe I will!" she retorted. She stepped toward the Animal, glowering. "So _here!_ Take back this piece of crap!" Without really knowing what she was doing, she tore the silver ring from her finger, hurling it at Batista. It hit his massive chest and bounced off, hitting the floor with a PING and spinning in a slow circle. The Animal stared down at the piece of jewelry cautiously, almost as though he expected it to leap up and bite him.

Before he could add a final insult, Elektra stomped away, her white stilettos beating out a furious rhythm on the concrete floor. She could make out familiar faces on either side of the hallway, but her dull sense of recognition was secondary to the almost incapacitating pain blossoming in her chest. She felt at those her heart was about to collapse inward upon itself, shrinking until there was nothing left. Elektra moved faster and faster, her walk turning into a jog, then a run. The other Superstars became nothing more than blurs of color in her vision.

She reached the end of the corridor and they parted, letting her pass without saying a word. Elektra barely noticed; she was just grateful that she wasn't faking the tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

The grey-eyed Diva turned on the faucet, but instead of splashing the cool water on her face, she stared listlessly at the colorless liquid swirling down the drain. She gripped the edges of the sink, her fingertips sliding on the slick white porcelain surface. Elektra leaned down until her dark hair fell forward, hiding her face and brushing the rim of the basin.

The only sound in the restroom was the gurgle of running water, but inside Elektra's head, her mind was screaming from the onslaught of unwanted auditory memories. The nasty verbal barbs that she and Batista had exchanged still reverberated off the inner walls of her skull, the words occasionally flickering across her vision in bloody shades of crimson. It wasn't as though she had heard anything unexpected; she and the Animal had talked long and hard about what to say and how to say it. But all the discussion in the world didn't make actually hearing it any easier.

Elektra heard the door creak open and looked up, her body tensed. However, when she saw that it was just Trish, she relaxed, her breath escaping from her lungs in a soft sigh.

The blond Diva twisted the bolt on the restroom door, locking out the rest of the world, and walked over to Elektra, slipping her arm around her waist comfortingly. "Hey, hon, how're you doing?" she asked softly.

It was a stupid question and both of them knew it. Nonetheless, Elektra felt a small twinge of relief, glad to know that at least one person understood what she was going through.

Elektra had originally intended not to tell anyone else, but she soon realized that she would need another partner in crime, because there was no way she would be able to go through this alone. Aside from Batista, there was only one other person on the Raw roster that she trusted implicitly, and that was Trish Stratus. Elektra sometimes marveled at the strange path that their friendship had taken in the past year: a few months ago, they had been bitter enemies; now, she considered Trish to be her closest female friend in the business.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," the silver-eyed Diva replied, her voice shaky. She ran her fingers through her hair absently, pushing it back from her face. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm her shallow breathing before she hyperventilated. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal and she continued. "I've put on a lot of acts since I first came here, but _that_ was the hardest thing that I've _ever_ had to do. Saying those things…and then walking away…I don't know how I did it, Trish, I honestly don't. And the worst part…as if anything _good_ happened out there…is that I couldn't even look around to see if it was working. There I was, putting myself through the most painful heartache of my life, without even knowing if it was worth it."

Trish was silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke, the former Women's Champion sounded pensive. "I still don't know if all this crap you're putting yourself through is 'worth it', but if it's reassurance that you want…they all bought it."

Elektra glanced up from the sink, swallowing hard. "They did?" she asked, her voice a curious blend of hope and defeat.

Trish nodded soberly, biting her lip. "Yeah…some of the guys, you know, were skeptical at first, but once you hurled that ring…" The blond Diva looked away, her lips curving in a bitter approximation of a smile. "Well...they're all believers now; let's leave it at that." She paused. "All those things you said out there—that _he_ said—were they planned?"

Elektra shrugged. "Most of them. The rest, well…" She let the thought trail off, but Trish didn't need to hear it vocalized to know what she meant. The former Women's Champion knew all too well about the core of darkness that lurked inside every WWE Superstar. That blackness was located closer to the surface for some, thus accounting for the Triple H's and the Randy Orton's of the world. For others, it took great effort to tap into that hidden heart of shadows, but once they did, they could either cut the promo of their life…or do something they would ultimately regret. Trish prayed that, at least for Elektra's sake, this situation would not fall into the latter category.

"Trish?" The blond Diva almost missed Elektra's query over the ceaseless noise of running water. The former First Lady of Evolution turned to look at her, her silvery eyes twin mirrors of sadness. "What if…" She hesitated, as though uttering the possibility could somehow make it a reality. "What if, after all this is over, he doesn't come back? What if Hunter manages to worm his way back into his mind? Or what if Dave just decides that it's easier watching his own back than always trying to protect mine? What if—"

"Hon, stop," Trish ordered gently. "Come here." Before Elektra could say anything else, Trish wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. It was a bit awkward, since the gray-eyed Diva was several inches taller, but at this point, neither one of them really cared.

"First of all," Trish continued. "That's an awful lot of 'What ifs'. Haven't you put yourself through enough this evening? Second…" She pulled back, grabbing Elektra by the shoulders and shaking her gently. "He's _going_ to come back, all right? He will _always_ come back." Trish smiled. "Ever since you first came here, the only person he's ever had eyes for is you. The entire Diva roster could be standing right in front of him, wearing their skimpiest bikinis, rubbing baby oil all over themselves, and he wouldn't even notice, let alone care. But if he sees you at the other end of the hall… " Trish paused, letting the thought sink in. "His whole face lights up, and from then on, the rest of us are invisible to him. I've known—hell, anyone with half a _brain_ has known—that he loves you."

"But what about Hunter?" Elektra pressed, casting her gaze toward the floor.

"What about him?" Trish replied. She peered up at the gray-eyed Diva. "Hon, a year ago, you came into Evolution and without even trying, you changed all of Batista's perceptions about his so-called leader. Since then, Triple H has _never_ been able to manipulate the Animal again, and he _knows it_. So don't worry about the Game's influence on Batista. Hunter may have some pretty dirty tricks up his sleeve, but the one thing he can't beat is Dave's love for you."


	37. Chapter 37: Beat The Clock

Chapter 37: Beat The Clock

Batista paced back and forth across the room, slamming his fist against shelves and muttering the occasional obscenity to himself. Flair had retreated to a corner, out of the path of the raging Animal. Triple H sat on a nearby bench, lacing up his boots. He watched Batista pour out his frustrations with a look of mild bemusement, the familiar arrogant smirk reappearing on his face.

"I'd say I told you so," the Game remarked casually, putting his foot back on the floor and leaning forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "But from the way you're wearing out the floor over there, I think that's probably a moot point. The important thing is…I hope you learned a valuable lesson from all this."

Batista didn't slow his furious pace one step. "After everything I did for that…_bitch_—humiliating myself in front of that _punk_, Orton; turning my back on you guys…" He stopped, glancing back at Triple H and Flair. "I'm just glad that I came to my senses before it was too late."

"Hey," The Game rose to his feet, walking over to the Animal and slapping him on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "We all make mistakes, all right? We've all _done_ things that we regret…if you know what I mean." His expression turned sly and he jokingly elbowed Batista in the ribs. The Animal's only response was to lift his huge hands and crack his knuckles one by one. Triple H's smile faded. "Look…I never should have brought that little succubus into Evolution in the first place. I should have known from the start that she would try and bleed us dry. You, me…hell, Orton would still be here if it wasn't for her. You know that if she hadn't driven him crazy, he wouldn't have gotten such crazy notions in his head." The Game shook his head. "What a waste." he sighed, sounding almost regretful. He turned back to Batista, his demeanor serious now. "She tried to turn you against me. She disrespected the legacy that _I've_ created by pretending to be some damsel in distress—and look what it got her. I don't expect an apology from her, but I _do_ expect one from you, Dave, regarding your behavior over the past month or so." He slapped the Animal on the shoulder again, and this time, it was a little too hard to be affectionate. It was a little too hard to be anything other than a hint. "I'm not asking for a speech or anything; just a simple 'I'm sorry' and we can put this whole Elektra business behind us." He stared at Batista expectantly.

The Animal's expression didn't change, but he clenched his fists tightly, the knuckles flushing white. He was filled with the almost overwhelming urge to wrap his hands around the Cerebral Assassin's neck and squeeze until his face turned purple; until the perpetual condescension in his eyes turned to stark terror.

It had been bad enough having to say those degrading things to the woman he loved, to convince everyone around him that he actually meant them, and in the end, when she had stormed down the corridor in tears, to pretend that her unhappiness meant nothing to him. At that moment, Batista had wanted desperately to run after her; to pull her into his arms and hold her until her crying stopped, whispering all the while that he didn't mean it, that he never meant _any_ of it, and would she ever forgive him for saying it in the first place? But in the end, he could only stand there, his expression cold, while inside, his harsh words echoed over and over again without fading, each one piercing him like a razor blade shoved lengthwise into his heart.

And then, as though adding insult to injury, he'd come back to the locker room only to be the recipient of the Game's smarmy moralizing. He felt the Animal roaring from within, desperate to be freed, growing angrier and angrier as Triple H heaped all of Evolution's problems over the past year on Elektra's doorstep. As though Randy Orton hadn't been a psychotic ticking time bomb to begin with. As though the Cerebral Assassin hadn't done a piss poor job of leadership by turning a blind eye to everything except outward appearances and the World Heavyweight Championship. As though he hadn't spent the last month driving Elektra out of her mind. But then again, that was the way the Game's mind worked, wasn't it? Triple H was always quick to illuminate the faults of others; he still had yet to turn this malicious perception on himself.

But for the Game to actually have the balls to stand there and glibly demand an apology…the proverbial straw was on the verge of breaking the camel's back, as the saying went. Batista was almost ready to take Triple H out right here and now. Screw the plan; after the crappy day he'd been having, nothing would be more satisfying than hearing the sickening crunch of bone and knowing that he'd broken the Cerebral Assassin's nose. But just as he was about to succumb to this urge; just as he was about to unleash the inner Animal, Elektra's face popped into his mind. Her expression of stoic resoluteness, in the face of all the emotional baggage that she'd been saddled with, reminded him that he was doing this for more than just a gold-and-leather title belt. Right now, Elektra was in a far more vulnerable spot than he was; one that she had allowed herself to be placed in so that the Animal could finally realize his full potential. She had endured the unendurable, all because he had asked her to.

So instead of giving into his emotions, Batista gritted his teeth and resigned himself to playing nice. He would do things the Game's way—for now—rather than let Elektra down. He had to prove that this heartache he was putting them both through was really worth it. Besides, as temporarily satisfying as a quick beat-down on Triple H would be, it could hardly compare to the eventual sense of accomplishment he would feel at beating the Cerebral Assassin at his own dirty game. The picture of that final encounter in his mind was so vivid, he felt as though he could actually reach out and touch the depicted figures, creating a bridge between reality and fantasy. Yeah…that was definitely worth it.

But there was no way that he was apologizing to Triple H.

Batista let his gaze drift over to the Game, feeling a fleeting sense of pleasure at watching his beloved leader back up a step. "Look, Hunter," he growled. "Right now, all I want to do is go out there and _destroy_ someone tonight." The Animal slammed his fist into the palm of his hand; an abrupt movement that made Triple H flinch. "That Rhyno—there's no _way_ he's walking out of Biloxi tonight, let alone taking my spot."

For just a second, irritation flashed across the face of the Game, as he realized that he was not going to get what he wanted: a show of humility from Batista. But just as quickly, the emotion passed, as though it had never been there to begin with. Triple H may have been evil and self-centered and overconfident, but he was not stupid. He knew that the last thing he needed at this particular time was to piss off an already annoyed Animal. Especially when he was so close to regaining the one thing he prized almost as much as life itself: the World Heavyweight Championship.

"All right," the Cerebral Assassin finally relented. "You go out to that ring, and you show _everyone_, including that _whore_, why Evolution _is_ Raw." Batista turned to go, but Triple H grabbed his arm, turning him back around. "Oh, and Dave…since you're so confident about your match, how about we make a little friendly wager?" The Game lifted up his other hand, in which a $100 bill had somehow magically appeared. Batista glanced from Triple H to the bill and back again, his face displaying a look of mild interest. The Cerebral Assassin continued. "I've got a hundred dollar bill here that says I can beat your time tonight. How 'bout it?"

Batista had to force himself not to smile. It looked like his evening was finally starting to pick up. Winning an easy $100 off of the Game wouldn't make up for losing Elektra…but it was a start. "You're on," was all he said, unconsciously flexing his biceps.

Triple H grinned, once again secure in his belief that his fellow Evolution members knew their place and that all was right with his world. "Excellent. Just remember, Dave…" The Cerebral Assassin leaned forward, his voice falling to a conspiratorial murmur. "The World Heavyweight Championship is as much a part of Evolution as you or me, and after New Year's Revolution, it's coming back where it belongs." The Game patted his own shoulder, still smiling. "Right here." His eyes bored into Batista's. "So do the right thing, understand?"

Batista's mouth curled into a half-smile, one that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. Without answering, he turned back to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the hallway. As he made his way to the ring entrance, the Animal mused that Triple H's prediction was only half right. The title _would_ be coming back to Evolution…but it would be residing on a very different shoulder.

* * *

"And representing Evolution…." Lillian Garcia announced over the customary boos. "Ba-_tis_-ta!"

The Animal strode down the ramp, ignoring the jeering fans on either side, his attention focused solely on the ring and the opponent within its vivid red ropes. Rhyno was certainly a formidable opponent: almost 300 pounds, tough as hell, and possessing that deadly finisher known only as the Gore. But Batista had something more than just a height and weight advantage. He had a ton of adrenaline and emotion coursing through his veins, honing his senses, feeding the Animal within. More importantly, he had an incentive, a _cause_ to fight for. This wasn't just for the World Title; it was for _her_. Even though she wasn't at ringside, Batista still felt like she was beside him, cheering him on the way she always had.

Chris Benoit's win over Viscera had placed the new time to beat at a little under six minutes. Batista wasn't worried about beating the clock; he had won his first Tag Team Championship in less time. Nor was he worried about his opponent; as resilent as Rhyno was, the Animal had known from the second he walked out on the Titantron that victory would be his. Batista had nothing against Rhyno personally, but he was going to make an example out of the Man-Beast tonight, sending a clear message to all of his opponents in the Elimination Chamber.

Especially Triple H.

The Animal stepped between the ropes into the ring, sizing up Rhyno, his face expressionless. The Man-Beast shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, arms outstretched, fingers wiggling in anticipation of the starting lock-up. The two men tensed as referee Mike Chioda raised his arm over his head, preparing to call for the bell. Then the three clamorous tones of the ring bell sounded and the two Superstars exploded toward each other, locking up in the center of the ring.

Rhyno was strong; there was no denying that. But with almost no effort, the Animal threw him back into the corner. The Man-Beast hit the turnbuckle post hard, but didn't go down. He stared at Batista with the faintest look of surprise, obviously not expecting such a display of power right out of the blocks. Rhyno went for the lock-up a second time, but again, the Animal tossed him right back into the corner.

Batista began to pace, his features still set in that mask of intimidation. He kept his hands at his sides, his fists opening and closing. Rhyno pulled himself out of the corner, shaking his head quickly to clear away any dizziness. Realizing that he wasn't going to win with wrestling holds, the Man-Beast decided to try and match Batista's power game. He launched himself off the ropes, aiming for a large shoulder take-down. It turned out to be a mistake; the Animal hit him with a devastating clothesline, almost turning Rhyno inside-out.

Batista bent over the fallen Man-Beast. "Come on, Rhyno!" he yelled, his tone taunting. "Is that the best you've got?" Suddenly, without warning, the boundaries of reality shimmered, and the face of Rhyno disappeared, only to be replaced by the sneering countenance of the Game.

_Do the right thing, understand? _

Batista blinked, backing up a step. He looked again, but the figure getting to his feet in front of him was undeniably Rhyno. The Man-Beast stormed toward the Animal, striking him across the face with a hard slap.

For a moment, Batista felt as though his jaw had been knocked out of joint. He reached up, making sure that it was, indeed, still intact. He glanced up, and realized, just a second too late, that the blow had been a mere distraction, allowing Rhyno to set up for the Gore. The Man-Beast hurled himself at Batista, taking the big man off his feet and driving the air out of his lungs.

A second or two passed, but for the Animal, it felt like an eternity. All he could see was the blinding glare of overhead lights. He didn't know if he could move; just trying to breathe seemed like such a struggle. Batista wondered vaguely if this was it; if his championship dreams were destined to end here, in this ring. But just as he was about to give in, Elektra's voice echoed through his mind.

_It'll never be over until he says so. He'll just keep torturing me and punishing me and it'll never stop… _

Chioda dropped down to the mat as Rhyno hooked the Animal's leg for the pin. The referee's hand crashed against the canvas. 1…2… The crowd erupted into surprised cheers as Batista jerked his left shoulder off the mat before three. Rhyno sat back on his haunches, his mouth an "O" of surprise, stunned that someone could actually kick out of the Gore. But his initial shock soon passed and the Man-Beast got to his feet, a look of grim determination on his features. He backed into the corner, preparing once again to bum-rush Batista. No one, not even the Animal, could survive a second Gore.

Batista slowly rose back to a standing position. His torso ached, but adrenaline was already starting to override the pain. He felt rather than heard the vibration of boots against canvas. The Animal turned, just in time to see Rhyno racing toward him.

In that instant, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Never before had his senses been so alert, so attuned to his surroundings. He tensed, and as he did so, all of the outside noise vanished, his own voice now reverberating in his ears.

_ Then I'll make it stop…_

In a quick brutal blur of motion, Batista grabbed Rhyno in mid-stride and threw him onto the mat with a massive spinebuster. The Animal leapt back to his feet, roaring. Reaching down and grabbing a handful of hair, he pulled the Man-Beast up in preparation for the Batista Bomb. As he lifted Rhyno up on his shoulders, voices swarmed through his brain, Elektra's and the Game's, weaving a tapestry of sound and memory.

_Dave, everything I have—my body… _

_ Never should have brought that little succubus into Evolution… _

_ …My heart… _

_ She drove Orton crazy… _

_ …My soul… _

_ She tried to turn you against me… _

_ ...belongs to you… _

_ Do the right thing, Dave… _

_ The right thing… _

_ The right thing… _

The force of the Batista Bomb shook the ring.

Batista stood again, glancing at the clock. He was almost surprised to see that only two and a half minutes had gone by. He looked back down at the fallen Rhyno. The Man-Beast had not moved since colliding with the canvas. Common sense dictated that now was the time to get the pin, while Rhyno was still senseless. But Batista remembered Triple H's directive. No matter what had just happened, he still had to _pretend_ that he was a team player. The match was more or less over, unless Batista wanted to ride out the next three minutes waiting for the Man-Beast to regain consciousness. So the least he could do was add an exclamation point to the statement.

"No," he remarked to himself. "No, there's plenty of time." He looked around the arena, knowing that his expression was filled with that relentless intensity that made the other Superstars fear and hate him. "One more!" he bellowed, clenching his fists. Leaning down, he pulled Rhyno back up. It was a bit harder this time; the Man-Beast was little more than 200-plus pounds of dead weight. But the Animal hoisted him over his shoulders yet again for a second sit-down powerbomb, a fragment of memory overtaking him.

_I won't let him hurt you again… _

_ Please, Dave, you don't know him… _

_ Maybe he doesn't know me… _

The second Batista Bomb was just as thunderous as the first. This time, however, Batista grabbed Rhyno's leg, hooking it for the pin. Chioda's hand hit the mat 1…2…3.

The Biloxi crowd burst into a mixture of cheers and boos as Evolution's music blared out through the speakers. Most of them were still totally against the Animal, but a few, an ever-growing few were starting to see that Batista was going through an evolution of his own, that he was becoming something more than just Triple H's thug.

The Animal got to his feet, letting the referee raise his hand in victory, but all of his focus was on the unconscious Superstar below him. In thirteen days, that figure would be the Game. Batista closed his eyes briefly, wishing that Elektra was there to share this moment with him. "This was for you, baby," he murmured to himself, his lips barely moving.

Batista opened his eyes, looking up at the clock. _3:02_. He had blown past Benoit's time. Unless the Cerebral Assassin developed some superpowers in the next half hour, he was going to lose more than his hundred bucks tonight; he was going to lose the coveted final entrance into the Elimination Chamber. The Animal didn't smirk, _forced_ himself not to, but inside, he was grinning from ear to ear.

_Top _that_, Hunter._


	38. Chapter 38: Believe Nothing

Chapter 38: Believe Nothing

Triple H stared, transfixed, at the monitor, his eyes almost burning a hole through the glass. Only his hand moved, closing around his water bottle tighter and tighter until liquid erupted from the plastic container like a miniature volcano. Water splashed on the foot, on his boots, but the Game didn't notice. Instead, he loosened his grip, the bottle slipping from his hand and clattering against the concrete floor. Only then did Triple H glance down, as though the sound had startled him back into awareness. He raised his hand in his face, studying it with a kind of curiosity, as though he could not understand how his fingers and palm had gotten all wet.

Normally, in a situation like this, the Nature Boy would be right at the Game's elbow, offering praise and assurance while downplaying the Animal's victory until it became almost insignificant. But Flair was absent, leaving Triple H alone with only his doubts and fears to keep him company. And even the Cerebral Assassin knew that those were some very dangerous companions to keep.

From an abstract point of view, there really was no cause for concern. After all, Batista _technically _hadn't done anything wrong. The Animal had been told to go out to the ring and beat Benoit's time, which he had done so admirably, firmly establishing not only his status in the Elimination Chamber, but Evolution's as well. Based on that logic, Triple H should be congratulating his protégée, not standing here gritting his teeth.

Unfortunately, the Game never had been much of an abstract thinker. Every move he made in this business, no matter how small, was geared toward one goal: obtaining and keeping the World Heavyweight Championship.

Viewed through that particular perspective, Batista's victory was more than bad; it was a total fucking disaster. The Animal hadn't just beaten the clock, he had shattered it with not one, but _two_ thunderous Batista Bombs. Despite his nine previous title wins and enormous self-confidence, the Game knew that he couldn't match that kind of power. Unless his opponent tonight turned out to be the Hurricane, there was no way he could score a pinfall or submission in under three minutes.

This meant that by all likelihood, by the end of the evening, Batista would be the one entering the Elimination Chamber last, not Triple H. Just like that, another enormous hurdle had been placed in his path, this one courtesy of his own partner.

Not to mention that he would have to fork over $100 when the Animal came back to the locker room.

For the briefest of instances, Triple H considered the notion that this had been Batista's plan all along; to go out there and dominate with _his _future in mind, not Evolution's. But just as quickly, the Game dismissed the thought. The only reason Batista had been so successful tonight was because he was still seething with pent-up emotion over his breakup with "the whore" (as Triple H preferred to call her). It was this kind of emotion which fuelled him, making him an unstoppable force in the ring; a raging bull searching for a moving target.

The tricky thing about emotion, however, was that it tended to make one blind to everything else. After all, the bull was always too busy charging toward that red flag to feel the matador's blade piercing its hide, delivering that fatal wound.

Batista led the roster in raw power, there was no doubt about that, and that power had earned him tremendous success in the past. But he had not yet learned how to channel his rage, and that would always be his ultimate downfall. The Animal simply lacked the mental cunning and capacity to pair with his awesome strength, a marriage which would allow him to reach his utmost potential and finally break through to the top ranks of Raw. That was why the Animal would always be a mere lackey within Evolution's ranks. That was why he would never be Champion.

And that was certainly why he would never exceed the Game.

Triple H heard the door open and turned, expecting to see Flair. His scowl soon deepened into a snarl of hatred when Randy Orton stepped into the locker room, a gleeful expression lighting up his handsome face. "_What_ are _you_ doing here?" the Cerebral Assassin growled.

Orton's grin widened; he was practically gloating. "Take it easy, Hunter, it's not like anyone saw me come in here. Believe me, I don't want people seeing us together any more than you do. Besides…" The Legend Killer leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I came here to talk business."

The Game took a step forward, adopting a similar stance. "I'm listening." he answered, his tone clipped.

Instead of replying, Orton glanced over at the monitor. From the expression on his face, one would have thought that he was a kid on Christmas Day. "First of all—did you _see _the Animal take out Rhyno like that? Oh man! I don't know about you, but I would _not_ want to be on the receiving end of _that_!"

The Game's fingers twitched, as though unconsciously itching to curl inward and form a fist. Triple H rapidly regained control of himself before instinct took over. There was no harm in hearing what Orton had to say, even if it would be more practical to simply reduce his pretty-boy face to a bloody pulp. "What's your point?" he snarled. "'Cause if you just came in here to gloat, I could have gone out to the hall for that."

The Legend Killer's smirk vanished, replaced by that reptilian demeanor that was so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. "My point?" he repeated, his voice holding the slightest hint of mockery. "My point is that if you still want Dave Batista 'taken care of' at New Year's Revolution…the price has just gone up to ten thousand again."

In the midst of his irritation, the Game felt a huge swelling of relief. Here, at last, was something that he could control, and he was going to relish doing so. "Price? What price?" A satisfied smile spread across his bearded face. God, this was going to be fun to watch. "Deal's off, Orton."

He'd been hoping for a reaction that was priceless, and he was not disappointed. Orton's steely blue eyes bulged in surprise, his mouth hanging agape. "W-_what_?" he sputtered. "You-you can't do that! We had a deal—"

"Yeah, well, things change." Triple H interrupted bluntly. "Circumstances have changed—and I've decided that I don't need you anymore." He studied the dumbstruck expression on the Legend Killer's face, and began chuckling. "Don't look so surprised; you were nothing but a last resort. So, if I were you, I'd start getting used to disappointment. In two weeks, I'm going to walk out of the Elimination Chamber with the World Title. And you remember the little arrangement we made a few months back, another 'deal', if you will?" He saw Orton's features tighten with anger, indicating that he did, in fact, recall the event. "As long as I'm Champion, you are SOL."

Orton fumed, his nostrils flaring with each furious breath. "Are you _out of your mind_?" he finally muttered through clenched teeth. "Didn't you see what just happened in the ring? You can't stop Dave Batista; that sideshow freak is going to tear you apart."

"No, he won't," the Game interjected calmly. "And do you know why?" He gazed at the Legend Killer quizzically for a few seconds, as though expecting an answer. When he received none in return, he continued. "Because, unlike you, Dave knows his place." The Cerebral Assassin took a step forward, his pace just as even and measured as his tone. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting what I just saw. Batista dominating the match…it does present a problem. But it's just a minor setback, because in the end, Dave's loyalty, first and foremost, is to Evolution. He'll do what's best for Evolution—and that means returning the title to its rightful owner." Triple H silently indicated himself. "Even if Dave's forgotten what the right thing is…I'll just 'remind' him again. You see, Dave just isn't smart enough to realize what's best for him, which is why I've _always_ been able to control him. And with that _cocktease_ he calls a girlfriend gone…well, that just makes my job a little bit easier."

"So where do I fit in?" Orton interrupted bitterly. "Why bother to deal in the first place if you're just going to turn around and call it off two weeks later?"

The Game waved his hand dismissively. "It's not important. Let it go, Randy."

"No!" The only reaction Orton's vehement response earned from Triple H was one raised eyebrow, but the Cerebral Assassin nonetheless allowed him to continue. "Two weeks ago, you were willing to fork over a _Number One Contender's_ spot, to _me_, not to mention a large sum of money, okay? A Superstar doesn't make an offer like that unless he's desperate. _Something_ had you scared two weeks ago; so scared that you were willing to ask for _my_ help! But yet you stand there and say that it's _not_ the thought of facing the Animal in the Chamber?"

"No, it's not!" The Game's reply was just as heated. His confident demeanor had disappeared; Orton had finally succeeded in pissing Triple H off. The former World Heavyweight Champion began to walk back and forth, his attention focused on the Legend Killer. "You want the truth so badly? Well, the truth is that I'm not _intimidated_ by Dave Batista. I'm not _afraid_ of Dave Batista, all right? But lately…Elektra…that bitch…she'd been putting ideas in his head, trying to make me the bad guy. And since then, Dave had been losing sight of his priorities. Did you know that he actually threatened to walk out of Evolution if I went near Elektra again? She was becoming a problem, to say the least. But how could I solve it?"

Triple H came to an abrupt halt. "The answer was simple: take Batista out of the equation. And if that meant having him chill on the sidelines with a serious injury for a few months—" The Game shrugged casually. "So be it. Once he was gone, I would make that whore pay for what she's done to me. By the time Dave came back, he would have learned his lesson, and Elektra…" Triple H smiled, and what it hinted at was nothing short of monstrous. "Well, let me just say that she would no longer be a problem. But none of it matters anymore, because tonight, the Animal finally came to his senses and dumped that bitch. As far as everyone's concerned, their relationship is ancient history." He stared at Orton expectantly, almost as though awaiting approval.

However, instead of applauding the Cerebral Assassin's stratagem, the Legend Killer merely blinked in astonishment. "Are-are you kidding me?" he stammered, sounding no less incredulous than he had earlier. "Are you even hearing the words that are coming out of your mouth? You're telling me that you put seventy-five hundred bucks and a title shot on the line…all because you're afraid of a _Diva_?"

Triple H frowned. "…_No_…" he retorted, just a few seconds too late for his answer to mean anything except the opposite.

Normally, Orton would have been thrilled to discover _anything_ that even remotely frightened the Game, but right now, he was too irate. Now the Legend Killer began pacing. "You bring me in here, feed me that bullshit about the good 'ol days in Evolution, basically ask me to risk getting my head torn off—and for what? Some weird twisted scheme to get back at the woman who dumped you? Why? Because she's fucking Batista now instead of you?" Orton rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ…all this time I thought that you finally realized that Batista is your biggest threat. But I was wrong: you don't even have the balls to stand up to one helpless woman." He shook his head, his expression pitying. "And they call _me_ crazy."

"Shut up!" In a flash, Triple H's anger escaped from its well-guarded prison, flickering across his rough-hewn face like lightning. "I'm not the only one who's turned into Danny-fucking-Ocean because of her. What about you, huh? You want to talk about that little _debacle_ that took place the night you were General Manager?"

"Hey!" Orton shot back. "I still took on Dave Batista!"

The Game smirked. "And got your ass kicked as a result. You really think I'm gonna follow your example? Thanks, but no thanks."

"You fucking coward," The Legend Killer had come to a halt. His head was lowered, but he still fixed the Game with his cold-eyed stare. His hands were clenched into fists. His voice had become a dangerous murmur. "You wanna talk about setting bad examples? You let that cunt back into Evolution, not because you needed her, not because you had a change of heart, but because you're too _chickenshit_ to stand up to her boyfriend. So you hire me to take him out. You're the _Game_, but the thought of facing Dave Batista on your own scares you shitless. And now, when you _know_, deep down, that you need my help the most, you call the whole thing off. Not because you've finally grown a pair, but because of some 'break-up'. And you get that big 'ol grin on your face, and you think you've won, that you're in control, that you'll be able to manipulate the Animal—but the truth, the sad truth is that you're too delusional to see that you're the one being played."

Triple H's smirk vanished. He took a step toward Orton. "You shut your fucking mouth." His voice was just as soft, but its low volume couldn't mask the hatred in his words.

Orton either didn't notice that he was treading in dangerous water or else didn't care. A tiny smile appeared on his face. "You're honestly going to stand there and believe that what just happened out there was a real break-up? Come on…Hunter…I thought you were smarter than that."

A sudden surge of rage burst across the Game's features, warping his face into something ugly. "_Get out_." he spat, jamming his finger toward the door.

A small spark of apprehension gleamed in the Legend Killer's eyes, but the youngest World Heavyweight Champion was just as stubborn as his former mentor. Like Triple H, he was unwilling to go without a fight. "You talk about Elektra like she was just a distraction for Dave…but she was more than that, wasn't she? She was a threat, yes, not just to you, but to Evolution. But more importantly…she was the only weakness that Dave had." He stopped and stared hard at Triple H. "Are you following me so far, Hunter? 'Cause if you can't keep up, I'll slow down."

The look the Game shot him would have burned a hold through solid steel, but Orton went on. "Don't you think it's weird that the first thing they do after returning to Raw is break up? I mean, after all the crap those two have put up with, it seems kind of anticlimactic to split over a few missed calls. And isn't it interesting how the Animal has suddenly eliminated his only weak spot?" The Legend Killer grinned. "Pretty smart, if you ask me."

He saw the Cerebral Assassin advancing toward him, and held up his hands, as though the gesture could magically stop Triple H in his tracks. "Listen to me, Hunter. They know that you would do anything to split them up, so they gave you exactly what you want to hear. You believed Dave's story, _not_ because it was the truth, but because it was what you needed to believe. You may have fallen for it, but luckily for you, I haven't—and if you value that title belt as much as you claim to, you'll listen." Orton held out his hands beseechingly, stepping slowly toward the Game. "Think about it. You know that what I'm saying is true."

Triple H stopped, and glanced down. A myriad of expressions bloomed and faded on his face as he considered Orton's words. When he looked back up, his features eased into a confident smile. The Legend Killer relaxed, letting a similar grin cross his own face. However, before he could speak, the Cerebral Assassin's grin vanished like evaporating steam. With swift and brutal force, he clamped his hand on Orton's throat, shoving him backwards across the room until he collided with the wall. The Game stuck his face into Orton's as he spoke. Each word was carefully measured and dripped with malice. "_No_, _you_ listen to _me_, you ungrateful punk." he growled. "I have had just about enough of your _shit_. You come in here, disrespect me, disrespect Evolution…but worst of all, you waste my time with your half-assed theories. All because you're bitter. Yeah, that's right, you're _bitter_. You had your fifteen minutes of fame as Champion, and you blew it, so now you blame everyone except yourself."

Triple H leaned back, but didn't relinquish his grip. "This isn't the movies, asshole. There isn't any big conspiracy. You're just trying to grab ahold of that title before it slips away for good. So you make up this wild story, trying to tell me that the whore and the Animal are playing me for a fool, when all that happened is Dave developed some common freaking sense. No one else knows about the deal we made, so as far as I'm concerned, it never existed." The Game shook his head. "I never should have asked you in the first place. You're crazier than a shithouse rat."

"You're going to be sorry!" Orton gasped out. "You'll see just how crazy I am when you step inside that cage, and the Animal powerbombs your ass straight to hell, and you open your eyes to see him and that bitch staring down at you, laughing!"

For a few brief moments, the Cerebral Assassin tightened his hand around the Legend Killer's neck. But then, he abruptly released his hold, stepping back as Orton collapsed to the floor. The youngest World Heavyweight Champion bent over, hands on knees, coughing and inhaling breath after breath. The Game glared down at him.

"For the last time, shithead, there is _nothing_ going on. And if you come to me with this crazy talk again, I'll break your neck. Understand?"

"You'll pay for this," Orton's voice was so low that for a second, Triple H thought he had imagined it. But then the Legend Killer looked up to lock eyes with the Game. His face was ablaze with loathing. "At New Year's Revolution, you'll _all_ pay."

The Cerebral Assassin rolled. "_Right_. Because that worked _so well_ the first time around." He crouched down, leaning toward Orton, speaking in a voice that only the two of them could hear. "You really are convinced that there's some plot against me, aren't you? Well, here's a way to test your theory. Right now, Elektra's wandering around out there all alone, with _no one_ to protect her. Why don't you go find her, have a little fun? And if the Animal comes barreling around the corner to save her, then I'll believe you. Of course, you won't exactly be around to tell the story if it happens." Triple H sneered, and straightened up. Without warning, he hit the Legend Killer across the back of his head with a hard open-handed smack. "Now get the fuck out of here."

Orton rose to his feet, his blue eyes as searing as laser beams. "This isn't over," he whispered, before he opened the door and slunk out into the hall.

As the door swung closed behind him, Triple H took a few minutes to consider his words. Orton had finally lost his mind, there was no doubt about that. But in the midst of all that ranting and raving, a few nuggets of truth had slipped through. The Legend Killer had more or less pointed out what the Game still refused to admit: that Batista was his stiffest competition inside the Elimination Chamber. Even with Elektra gone, would he still make the right decision concerning Evolution? Maybe the Cerebral Assassin should reconsider his decision to call off the deal…

Triple H dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. Here he was, starting to buy into Orton's lunacy. Batista was going to help him win back the World Heavyweight Championship. Cripple a major asset and his closest ally like that would be stupid. All Dave needed was a little talking-to to make him come back around. Hadn't he always done so in the past?

And as for Elektra…well, there was plenty of time for her. No point in rushing revenge. After New Year's Revolution, after he had won back the World Title, he would turn his attention to her. Until then, let her lull herself into a false sense of security. Or better yet, let Orton break her in first.

That boy needed to have some fun every once in a while.

* * *

Exactly as predicted, the next thirteen days went by without incident. Elektra obeyed Batista's directive; she relegated herself to either the women's locker room or the ring, and didn't go anywhere without Trish, Christy or Maria. After the "break-up", the other Divas had immediately rallied around her, calling the Animal a bastard and proclaiming good riddance to him and the rest of Evolution.

Elektra let them make a fuss over her, knowing that she couldn't tell them the truth anyway. Besides, it wasn't like she had to fake any melancholy or depression over his absence. She had barely seen Batista since their so-called split, and having to treat him like an archnemesis when she did see him was weird to say the least. Besides, no matter how many times he told her that he loved her over the phone, it couldn't replace the feeling of his arms around her; his breath caressing her skin as he whispered those words into her ear.

Elektra hated this charade; hated lying to everyone. It wasn't as though she had any moral qualms about lying; it was just that doing so was a painful reminder of what her life had been like with Triple H. Unlike her physical ones, those wounds never fully healed.

Try as she might, Elektra could not ignore the parallels between the present situation and the previous one. Just like now, she and Batista had concocted a plan to allow them to be together without the threat of the Game.

And it would be the understatement of the year to say that their last scheme had not gone exactly as planned.

Elektra could not shake the feeling of foreboding that constantly gripped her. It was paranoid, it was irrational, it was _stupid_, above all else, but it was also a sensation that she couldn't control. Maybe it was her intuition kicking into high gear, trying to tell her that something was _wrong_, that history was about to repeat itself. But if there really was something to fear, why didn't she know what it was yet?

Everything she had experienced over the past thirteen days was culminating in this one night, in this one match. Either things would go as planned or they wouldn't; there was no gray area in between. But regardless of the outcome, at least she wouldn't have to keep up this ridiculous fantasy after tonight.

Elektra had this eerie vision of dark storm clouds swirling above her, lit by flickers of unseen lightning bolts. She could hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. The silver-eyed Diva only hoped that when the maelstrom broke, she would not be at the center of it this time.

Lord knows she had barely survived last time.

"Hey, girl!" Elektra's thoughts returned to the present, and she glanced up, smiling as the new Women's Champion entered the makeup room. Trish had changed from her ring attire to a pair of jeans and a "100 Stratusfaction" t-shirt. The title belt was displayed in its customary spot on her shoulder.

"Hey!" Elektra met the blond Diva halfway, pulling her into an affectionate hug, then holding her at arm's length to admire the red and gold Championship belt. "Congrats on your win. What is this, number six?"

Trish nodded. "Yeah. They say it's some kind of a record or something." She shrugged. "But to be honest, I'm just glad that match is over."

The two women fell silent as they thought about this. Elektra didn't need to ask to know what Trish meant. Facing Lita for the title yet again, with each Diva's emotions running as high as they had been over the past few months…in its own way, Trish's match was the physical representation of what Elektra had been going through for the last two weeks.

Elektra slowly crossed both arms over her chest. "How's she doing?" she asked quietly. The question was stated flatly, with no real sympathy.

Trish glanced to the side, avoiding the other Diva's eyes for a second. Elektra had no idea of what was really going on in her head. "Her knee got tore up pretty bad during that Thesz press. I asked the trainer; he's guessing torn ACL, _maybe_. I just don't know…and I'm not even sure if I care."

Elektra put her arm around Trish's shoulders, but didn't say anything. She knew that Trish and Lita had been friends for a long time, long before she had come to the WWE. For Trish to admit that she actually didn't care about Lita's injury took a lot of guts, more than Elektra would ever know.

Trish shook her head quickly, forcing a smile onto her face. "But enough about the past; let's talk about right now. It's almost time, I just heard Batista cutting his promo for Todd Grisham." She stared hard at Elektra. "This is it. Are you ready? You look good, by the way."

Elektra spun in a small circle, pretending to model the short shredded pink skirt and white bikini top. "Thanks...and no, I'm not." She laughed, a high nervous sound. "I'm not even sure I want to watch; how weird is that? How am I supposed to react around the other girls during the match?"

"Don't worry about them; just think of it as a normal match." Trish answered. She let out a snort of laughter at her use of the word "normal". "What are they gonna do, run out to the ring and tell someone? Let them wonder; after tonight, it's not going to matter." Her face lit up, as though she had just remembered an important piece of information, and she quickly stuck her hand in her front pants pocket, obviously searching for something. "Speaking of things that matter…a little bird asked me to give this to you." She brought her fist out and opened it palm upward. Nestled in the hollow of her hand was the simple silver ring from Batista.

Elektra gasped, a wordless sound of joy, and snatched it up, running her fingers over its surface before sliding it onto her left ring finger. She looked back up at Trish, raising one eyebrow. "A _little _bird?" she joked.

"Okay, so he was the biggest freakin' bird I've ever seen," Trish replied playfully. "He also had something else to tell you, but he said that he shouldn't have to say it; it's already written on the inside of the ring."

Elektra couldn't keep the smile off her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her left hand against her heart. For just an instant, it felt like Batista was here with her. She opened her eyes again, glancing back at the Women's Champion. "Thank you," she whispered, too overcome with emotion to say anything else.

"Hey, just try not to lose it this time," Trish kidded, though by the expression on her face, she was trying not to cry as well. The blond Diva quickly blinked back tears. "Quick question: why did you throw it at Dave in the first place?"

Elektra shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know--it seemed like a good idea at the time." she admitted, giggling. Trish joined her and for the next several minutes, they just stood together, letting all of their tension and frustration escape with their laughter.

The gray-eyed Diva was the first one to grow serious again. "Well, let's head on out." She walked across the room, pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, Trish just behind her.

Once they were out in the corridor, however, Elektra ground to a halt, looking right, then left. "All right…now which way do we go?"

"Beats me," Trish volunteered. "This is the weirdest arena I've ever been in. It took me a while just to find you." She took hold of Elektra's wrist. "Okay, this door was on the left, so let's go right."

They headed in that direction, took a few more rights, and just when Trish proclaimed that she was pretty sure they were near the locker room, they turned left—right into a dead end.

"Hey, Trish," Elektra remarked. "You may be a six-time Women's Champion, but you've got a horrible sense of direction."

Trish smacked her on the arm. "Shut up! I know exactly where we are." The blond Diva began to turn, but froze suddenly, Elektra as well, at the sound of the voice just behind them.

"Looks like you two took a wrong turn."

Elektra didn't need to turn around to see the owner of the voice. She would have known it anywhere; she sometimes heard it in her dreams.

It was the voice of Randy Orton.


	39. Chapter 39: No One Can Save You

Chapter 39: No One Can Save You

A cold trickle of fear slowly worked its way down Elektra's spine, sending a brief but noticeable shiver across every inch of her body. She turned on one slender white heel, filled with a wordless trepidation of facing the inevitable. It was the same sort of apprehension that a hiker feels when he turns down a bend in the trail and encounters a hissing rattlesnake; the instinctual knowledge that he's facing a deadly predator.

Orton's trim frame seemed to fill the narrow space. He stood there, his posture relaxed and casual, one hand propped against the adjacent wall, subtly but effectively boxing the two Divas within the dead end. Elektra forced her eyes up to his face, knowing that if she didn't meet his gaze now, if she didn't face her fear immediately, she would freeze during that one crucial moment and be unable to escape.

The Legend Killer's eyes were filled with a range of familiar emotions: hatred, lust, delight. But there was a vacancy in his gaze as well, a sense of utter blankness. It was as though Orton had brought those emotions to the forefront almost as a reflex, to hide the fact that behind those azure irises, there really was nothing except a dark void: no heart, no conscience, no soul. His features kept twitching, as if his handsome countenance was merely an uncomfortable mask he wished to shed, exposing the true face of the beast lurking beneath it.

Orton was made of flesh and blood, not plaster, but the cracks in him were beginning to show, nonetheless. Even if the lights were on, there was no guarantee that anyone was home.

Orton smiled, but it never came close to reaching his eyes. The expression was terrifying, both in its iciness and in its mockery of a genuine human emotion. "_Well_," he drawled, and in that single word, Elektra heard the harsh clatter of the snake's rattle. "Isn't this a nice surprise; the _Women's Champion_," he nodded his head slightly toward Trish. "And _Elektra_." He deliberately emphasized each syllable, making her name sound more like a magical incantation.

Elektra had completely forgotten that Trish was beside her until she felt the Women's Champion grab her wrist, squeezing it in a death grip. The gray-eyed Diva didn't move, didn't tear her gaze from Orton. She knew all too well what the consequences would be if she took her focus off the Legend Killer for an instant.

"Trish," At first, Elektra didn't recognize the calm voice that seemed to emerge from nowhere. With some surprise, she realized that it was her own. "Run. Get help."

"No way!" Trish hissed, digging her nails into Elektra's skin for emphasis. "If you think that I'm leaving you alone with him for a single second, you're out of your mind!"

Elektra started to argue, but common sense forced her to shut her mouth. Whatever Orton had planned (and knowing the Legend Killer, he probably did), he would be less likely to attempt it with Trish nearby.

For the first time, something resembling amusement emerged in Orton's eyes. "Your girlfriend seems to have the right idea," he remarked coolly. His gaze flicked over to Trish, but just as quickly, returned to her. "What's the matter, princess; did Dave ruin all men for you? Did you decide to go play for the other team?" His grin widened. "You know, that not a bad idea. In fact…that's actually kind of a turn-on."

Elektra rolled her eyes, trying to hide any outward anxiety. "Look, Randy," she retorted. "I know you get off on wasting my time with your fifteen minutes of idle threats and innuendos, but—as incredible as it may seen-- we actually have somewhere we have to be. Could you just save it for later?"

For a moment, Randy's face didn't change. Then, he threw back his head, roaring with laughter, pressing one hand to his forehead. Elektra glanced from him to the wide expanse of open hallway behind him. As unobtrusively as she was able, she stepped quietly on the toes of her stilettos, trying to sneak past the Legend Killer while his mind was diverted by his own personal amusement. Trish was right behind her; they must have looked like something out of an old Abbott and Costello film.

But just as she was about to pass Orton, he opened his eyes, the laughter wiping from his face as instantly and cleanly as someone flipping a light switch. His arm was back in place, blocking her path, and Elektra was forced to take a step or two back. The Legend Killer cocked his head to one side, studying her with interest.

"You know, for a bitch who doesn't have anyone watching her back anymore, you sure seem to have developed some guts," he remarked, his tone light. Again, Elektra glimpsed that flash of vacuity. His irises might as well have been solid black instead of blue; all she saw was miles and miles of emptiness. She began to wonder, with an ever-increasing amount of dread, if Orton had finally lost it. If that was the case, then her nightmare was only just starting.

Randy Orton had always been a formidable opponent, both in and out of the ring. A talented Superstar to begin with, he had absorbed every iota of wrestling knowledge and mental cunning from the Nature Boy and the Game before being abruptly evicted from Evolution. But Elektra had been one of the very few, perhaps the only one, to fall victim to his madness. Despite what anyone might say, it was when the Legend Killer let reality mingle with his own twisted fantasies that he was at his most dangerous.

Orton, meanwhile, paused, looking left and right as though searching for eavesdroppers. Elektra almost jumped when he spoke again. His voice was soft, tightly controlled, belying only a subtle suggestion of the animosity boiling beneath the surface, threatening to burst forth and engulf her. "Or am I wrong? Is that freak boyfriend of yours hiding behind a corner, just _waiting_ for me to do something like _this_?" He leisurely reached out with his other hand, pressing his fingertip lightly against the hollow of her throat, slowly letting it trail downward toward the space between her breasts.

Elektra slapped his hand away before he could get very far. She couldn't repress a shiver of revulsion from Orton's touch. She felt as though a slug had just made his slimy trek across her skin. "Don't be a fucking idiot, dipshit. You _know_, like _everyone else_ on the roster _knows_, that we broke up. It was on the _website_, for God's sake. Are you _slow_—or were you just too busy jacking off to pay attention?" She allowed herself to smile, a tight emotionless smile. "Knowing you, it was probably the latter."

Her comment should have made the Legend Killer furious, but instead of flying into a rage, Orton merely returned her grin, his stretching so wide that it was almost a grimace. For a second, she was sure that she saw his flesh pulsate, as though the monstrous being caged in his psyche was pressing against his skull, struggling to break free.

He stepped toward her, closing the precious distance between them, but Elektra willed herself not to move away. After all she had been through, she was not about to start backing down from the Legend Killer again. Orton came to a halt, his body a hairsbreadth from hers. He looked down at her, his face still bearing that joker-like grin. At this distance, he could have bent down and kissed her, but Elektra knew better. There would be no shows of tenderness from Orton, not anymore. From now on, only her pain would be synonymous with his pleasure. Maybe that was the way it had always been.

Orton's breath hit her face like a hot wave. "Keep telling yourself that, angel, and maybe _someone_ will start believing it." He leaned even closer, his lips brushing her hair. His voice had dropped to a whisper. "You may have fooled all those other idiots out there…but you can't fool me." He straightened up again, his smile fading and his tone returning to normal. "Aren't we a pair? Five months ago, we were the best, the top of the Raw food chain. And now look at us… outcasts, trying to claw our way back to the top. Face facts, babe, you've always known that deep down, we're the same."

Elektra shook her head. "No…no, I'm nothing like you." She stared defiantly up at the Legend Killer. "Now get the hell away from me."

"Or what?" Orton's retort was casual, but the brief tensing of his muscles told Elektra a different story. "Dave'll come running around the corner to kick my ass? Oh, wait a minute, that's _right_. You broke up." The smile was back, curving neither up nor down, just a horizon line bisecting his face. "But...just to make sure…why don't I test that theory…_now_!"

Elektra had forgotten how quickly he could move. Just like his devastating RKO finisher, the Legend Killer's favored style of attack was short rapid bursts of violence. Before the silver-eyed Diva could even think to scream, Orton's hands were around her throat and her spine was meeting cinderblock, bright laser beams of pain shooting up into her brain. Her feet dangled an inch or two off the ground. Elektra twisted back and forth helplessly like a fly pinned to a board, her hands clamped over Orton's, attempting to loosen his grip on her windpipe. She tried to cry out for help, but she couldn't even take in enough oxygen to breathe. Her vision began to flicker, alternating between steadily increasing flashes of black, and the unwanted image of the Legend Killer's leering countenance.

Trish lunged toward the Legend Killer, throwing down her title belt, her perfect features twisted with anger. "You fucking bastard! Let her go!" She jumped on his back, locking her arms around his neck, her nails sinking into his flesh. The Women's Champion was a wild woman, displaying a primal rage not witnessed even by her opponents. "Help!" the blond Diva screamed. "Somebody help us!"

Orton did obey her directive: he let go of Elektra. The gray-eyed Diva sank to the floor, coughing, involuntary tears flooding her eyes. Unfortunately, the Legend Killer had done so only so he could turn the full brunt of his rage on Trish Stratus. Reaching up and grabbing a handful of the Diva's golden tresses, he brutally snapmared her over his shoulder. Trish hit the cement floor tailbone-first, gasping with agony and clutching her lower back. But Orton wasn't finished yet. Circling her like a vulture waiting for its prey to expire, he aimed a vicious kick at her kidneys, the way one might kick a stray dog. He kicked her a second time. Then a third.

"_Trish_!" Elektra shrieked, but the sound came out as little more than a strangled whisper. The sudden rush of oxygen had slammed her brain back into awareness; unfortunately, her limbs seemed to have been infused with lead. Common sense was screaming at her, telling her that she should be using this momentary distraction to escape. But Elektra was too frozen by her own terror to act. Not by the reptilian gleam in Orton's eyes, but by the cruel violence he was inflicting on her best friend.

By now, Trish's gasps had become moans of pain. Her body shook and she made a quiet sobbing sound, as if she was crying and trying to rein in her tears all at once. Orton was breathing hard as well. He touched his neck and upper chest, where Trish's fingernails had raked across his skin. Elektra saw for the first time that a few of the scratches were bleeding. Orton must have noticed this too, because his face warped suddenly into that other creature, the Legend Killer's true self, the beast that lurked behind such a handsome face.

Bending over, he gripped Trish by the hair again with both hands, hauling her up ungraciously to her feet. The Women's Champion was in pain, she was laboring for each breath, tears were running down her face, but she still managed to glare boldly up at the Legend Killer. Orton pulled her closer to him, so close that her nose bumped against his. "You made me bleed, bitch." he whispered harshly, and without another word, he threw Trish against the opposite wall like a bag of trash. The blond Diva's skull connected with an ugly SMACK, and she slid down to the floor, a limp bundle of arms and legs, her eyes rolling back into her head.

Elektra pressed her hand to her mouth. By now, she was crying too hard to scream for help. "Trish…" she murmured helplessly to herself. She wanted to crawl to her friend's side and help her, but then she saw Orton's feet turn in her direction and instinct took over. Still weeping and on hands and knees, she scuttled toward the hallway, hoping that, by now, someone had at least heard the shouting and decided to investigate.

She had just gotten one hand out into the intersection of corridors, however, when she felt the Legend Killer grab hold of her hair, pulling her back into the dead end, where there would be no escape. Desperately, Elektra held onto the corner of the wall, trying to escape the inevitable. But her hands were slick with perspiration, and besides, Orton was too strong by far. He dragged the sobbing Diva back into the hollow, yanking her to her feet and pressing one tattooed forearm against her throat. It didn't really matter; Elektra was still too traumatized to struggle.

Orton gazed in her eyes, a half-smile on his lips. Elektra didn't know which was more frightening: the sadistic glee in his expression or the obvious insanity glowing in his eyes. When he spoke, his mouth barely seemed to move, but she still heard every word with awful clarity. "Looks like you may be right after all, babe," he remarked, biting off each syllable with clipped preciseness. "Too bad…for you."

"You bastard," Elektra gasped in a hoarse whisper. "You fucking bastard. Why did you—" She broke off, fresh tears staining her cheeks. "Trish…" she moaned again, stretching one hand in vain toward her fallen friend.

Orton glanced back at his handiwork, his semi-smile becoming a pleased grin. "Sorry, did I do that?" He turned back toward her and shrugged, his demeanor almost self-conscious. "Hey, she brought it on herself. She tried to get involved in our business. And I think I'm not alone here, princess, when I say that you and I have some _serious_ unfinished business." He stared at her again, tilting his head to one side, obviously amused by her misery. "Not so tough, are you? Now that Dave's not around to save your ass."

"You _fucker_," Elektra voice was a low murmur of hate. She met his gaze, her eyes crackling with silver sparks. "Let me go! Let me—"

Her words were soon cut off because with that same brutal speed, Orton brought his left hand up, fingers tightly balled into a fist. His knuckles crashed into her cheekbone, the force of the blow snapping her head violently to the side, her left cheek slamming into the wall.

Elektra was so shocked that her whole body went limp. It had been seven years since a guy had full-on punched her in the face. Not even Triple H, at his absolute worst, had stooped to that level. Waves of pain radiated outward from the point of impact. The entire right side of her face was numb with agony; after a few seconds, she couldn't trace the sensation to any one source to see if anything was broken. She felt something trickling from the corner of her mouth, and prayed that it wasn't blood.

Orton moved back a step, shaking his hand out, though it was unlikely that he felt any pain. His mouth curved upward and he chuckled, a sinister chuffing sound. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he remarked casually. Elektra didn't respond. The wall behind her was the only thing keeping her in an upright position, and it enabled her to avoid looking at Orton.

The Legend Killer continued. "You know, ever since you came to Raw, you've caused me nothing but trouble." He held up his hand, ticking off an imaginary list. "Because of you, I've lost friends, championships, I've gotten kicked out of Evolution—and nowadays, every time your boyfriend sees me, he feels the need to kick my ass." He paused, leaned toward her. "The funny thing is, the _only thing _I ever wanted out of you was a half-decent fuck. Get on your back, spread your legs, and BOOM! End of story. But _no_, you had to make a big issue out of it; you had to blow it way out of proportion and make it all about _you_. You had to shack up with some _freak_ so he'll protect you. But now, after all you did to keep me away from you, here we are, alone—" He stopped, glancing down at the unconscious Trish. "Well, more or less. My point is, if you'd taken me up on that offer a year ago, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Orton looked back at Elektra for comment, but received none. In fact, the silver-eyed Diva still slumped against the unyielding white wall like an abandoned department store mannequin, her chin resting on her shoulder. Orton's features twisted with rage, and grabbing her face, he forced her to look at him, gripping her chin between thumb and forefinger hard enough to bruise her skin. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, bitch!" he snarled, his smug demeanor gone. Grasping the back of her neck, he tugged her away from the wall, pushing her head down toward the senseless form of the Women's Champion. "See this? Take a good look at what you did! _This_ happened because you wouldn't put out!" Pulling her up, the Legend Killer pushed her back roughly against the wall, one hand resting lightly on the base of her throat. "Everything that's happened…everything that's _going_ to happen…it's all your fault."

Elektra stared at him dully without really seeing him. Her mind was already retreating deep within her psyche, protecting itself from any future trauma. She felt detached, as though she was watching events unfold on a television screen, as though she wasn't even here.

Orton glared at her, and slowly but surely, his confidence returned. "I know what you're thinking. You're just like the rest of them; you think I'm going crazy. Well, angel, I'm not the only one who's been driven out of his fucking mind because of you. I mean, take a look at that ex of yours, the one who calls himself the Game." The Legend Killer leaned closer, lowering his voice, as though he was about to impart some great secret. "Did you know that he actually paid me to put your boyfriend out of action? Not because he's trying to move in on you again, but just to get Dave away from _you_."

Elektra felt her lips move, heard her voice ringing dully in her ears. "What? Why—"

Orton flashed that weird half-smile again. "Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either. The great Triple H is so afraid of you that he's willing to sacrifice the Animal, his own fucking bodyguard, to get rid of you. Something about 'teaching Dave a lesson', whatever that means." The smile vanished. "I don't understand. I mean, look at you. You're weak and you're useless. I'm the biggest challenge he's ever had to that title, but I'm still less of a threat to him than you are." His forearm pressed more insistently against her throat. "And then you had to go and fuck everything up, just like you always do, with that load of bullshit you call a break-up. Because of you, Hunter called the deal off, laughed in my face, said he didn't _need_ me anymore—when I'm probably the best friend he's got right now. You see, I'm the only person on this roster who knows the truth: that _you're_ the one playing the Game and not the only way around."

Elektra leaned her head back against the wall, wishing that it would open up and engulf her. "Hunter was right; you are crazy." she murmured, though by now, her responses had become flat and automatic.

"Am I?" Orton shot back tauntingly. "What you think, what everyone else thinks—it's not going to matter after tonight. You see, I'm not going to sit back and wait for the shit to hit the fan, like Hunter's always done. No, tonight, I'm _taking it all back._ Once I'm inside that cage, I'm still going to end your boyfriend's career. After that, all it takes is one RKO to make me World Heavyweight Champion. I did it at Survivor Series; I can do it again tonight." The Legend Killer leaned in next to her ear, his breath almost scorching her skin. "But first…I'm going to do what Triple H doesn't have the balls to do himself: I'm going to make you pay for all the trouble you've caused. By the time I'm done, you won't know whether to beg me to stop…or to keep going." Orton paused, and Elektra felt her stomach lurch with nausea when his tongue touched her earlobe. "They call that _thing_ out there the Devil's Playground, but the hurt that I'm going to feel in there _pales in comparison_ to the pain you're going to feel right now."

As Orton's voice caressed her ear with its insidious murmur, thoughts flickered across Elektra's brain. In reality, they must have lasted mere fractions of seconds, but to the gray-eyed Diva pinned against the wall, they seemed to last an eternity.

She supposed that she should be shocked at the Legend Killer's revelation and Triple H's deceit, but the sad truth was that she had been steeling herself for something like this ever since she had first witnessed Batista shoving the Game into the shelves. From that moment on, however unspoken it might have been, the Cerebral Assassin had declared open war on both her and Batista. But Elektra had always expected the first attack to be made on her; she had never anticipated the Animal being the primary target…or Randy Orton being used as the instrument of destruction. More importantly, she'd never considered the idea that maybe, deep down and in his own way, Triple H was as scared of her as she was of him.

And perhaps therein lay the root of all of Orton's hatred of her. The Legend Killer simply could not comprehend the idea that a lowly Diva could matter more than him; could evoke a greater feeling of loathing, not to mention anxiety, than him. Once you stripped away the lust, the sexual assault, the violence and the psychological torment, the only emotion remaining in Orton was jealousy. It was no secret that he was jealous of Triple H; he always had been. Or that he was envious of the Animal, for having won Elektra's heart despite his lack of (in Orton's mind, anyway) "attractive qualities". But now, after listening to his ravings, it was evident that his envy extended to her as well.

In spite of all her denials, Elektra knew that Orton was right: they _were_ the same. Once upon a time, both she and the Legend Killer had been at the top of their game in Evolution. Both of them had subsequently lost everything—titles, status, dignity. However, unlike Orton, who had been struggling to regain his footing ever since Unforgiven, Elektra had inadvertently gotten some of that life back. Granted, her reacceptance into Evolution had been a reluctant one—but Orton didn't see things that way. All he saw was a Diva with locker room status that he believed to be rightfully his.

But the irony, the big cosmic joke of it all was that Elektra didn't want any of it. Life in Evolution was like living in a gilded birdcage, one occupied by an enormous cat who day after day eyed her hungrily, licking its chops. She would have traded her spot in Evolution any day, would have relinquished all claims to the Women's Championship, just to have a taste of Orton's freedom.

Elektra mulled over all of this, and then, the unexpected occurred—the gray-eyed Diva laughed. Softly at first, sounding more like a deeply-lodged cough, the laughter burst from her chest in high-pitched silvery peals. It was nervous, manic, and ringing with that unmistakably tone of someone on the verge of losing their mind altogether.

The Legend Killer slowly lowered his arm, backing away from her cautiously. Laughter was obviously the last response he had expected after that final threat. His face warped with that monstrous anger, but even the ferocity of his expression couldn't mask the spark of confusion burning in his eyes. "What—" he stammered, trying to regain his composure. "What is it? Huh? What the _fuck_ are you laughing at?" He stepped forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her violently. Elektra felt her head come dangerously close to hitting the wall behind her. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" Orton demanded. "This isn't a joke; _no one_ can save you now."

Elektra forced herself to stop, to swallow her giggles. Not because she feared what might come next, but because she knew that if she continued laughing, she would be unable to stop. She was teetering on the brink, but then again, maybe the only way to counter Orton's lunacy was to go a little crazy herself.

"I take it back," she managed to say. "I take it back. You were right. For the first time in your miserable life, you were right about something." She gestured between the two of them. "You and me, Randy…we _are _the same." Orton's brow creased in bewilderment, and Elektra pressed on, knowing that she finally had him off-balance. "We're both still living in the past. We both lost something a long time ago, and we've been trying to get it back ever since, because we think that if we do, we'll get that part of our lives back as well."

Elektra pushed herself up off the wall. Her body was aching, but the pain was secondary to the burning rush of emotion as she spoke, the protective walls she had built around her memories crumbling into dust. "What did you lose? A World Title." She shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just a belt. Just a piece of gold and leather. It's nice, but it's _nothing_ compared to what I lost." The Legend Killer was staring down at the floor. For the first time, it seemed as though _he _was actually the one who was afraid. Elektra closed the space between them. Now _she_ was the one to grab his chin, to force his head up. "Look at me, you pathetic piece of shit. I lost _six years_ of my _life_ because of someone like you, someone who didn't care about anything except himself. But things have changed, Randy. _I've_ changed. I'm not nineteen anymore. I'm not going to just lie there and take it this time."

She paused for breath before continuing. "All your big talk, your threats about what you're going to do to me—I've heard them all before, Randy, and I've _survived_ them. I've survived _you_. You're nothing but a _joke_. You think you're finally going to prove tonight that you're better than Triple H?" Elektra laughed bitterly. "You're nowhere near his level, and _everyone_ knows it. You think tonight's the night you're going to regain the World Heavyweight Championship?" She moved even closer, crowding Orton against the opposite wall. The Legend Killer's eyes darted back and forth, as though he was searching for someone to rescue _him_ from _her._ Elektra stared deep into his blue eyes, her voice starting out as a harsh whisper, but ending as a shout. "You will _never_ be World Champion again. Just like you'll never _touch_ me again. Once you get in that cage, Dave is going to tear you apart—and when he sees what you've done to me, _he's _ _going to kill you, motherfucker_!"

Elektra stopped, but the reverberations of her shouts remained, echoing off into silence. She wouldn't have been surprised if they heard her screams out in the arena.

Orton remained absolutely still, save for his mouth, which twitched intermittently at the corners. As she watched, the spasms grew into a first-class arrogant Legend Killer grin. And through the euphoria of release, Elektra felt dread seize her body as she realized that she had inadvertently given Orton the validation he had been seeking.

"I see," the Legend Killer murmured, his voice calm again, seductive even. He leaned toward her, his mouth hovering over hers. "_Thank you_." he whispered, with all the sibilance of a snake.

Elektra backed away, pressing one hand against her mouth. Her mind was already racing, trying to calculate how much damage she had caused. She hadn't meant for the truth to come out; Orton had kept pushing her and tormenting her until the only alternative was total catharsis. Maybe that had been the Legend Killer's strategy all along. Or maybe, just like her, he hadn't intended for this to happen. Either way, Orton knew the truth now, and like it or not, she had to deal with it.

She began running down possible scenarios in her head. Right now, the best response was nonchalance. True, the Legend Killer had a knack for latching onto the slightest suggestion of weakness or emotion, and there was no doubt that he had seen the fear in her eyes. But maybe she could play it off as merely surprise, and distract him long enough to do…what? She didn't know, and part of her didn't want to know.

A few seconds ago, she had been trying to find a way to escape from Orton. Now she was doing everything in her power to keep his attention on her.

Elektra pursed her lips, forcing all nonessential emotions to the back of her brain, trying to convince herself that this was a taped segment, that a camera crew was right off to the side, ready to yell "Cut!" at a moment's notice. She did not need to remember that she was potentially putting her life on the line.

"So what?" she retorted, glaring up at Orton. "You know the truth. So what? It's not going to matter. In a little while, you'll be locked up in that cage with five other men, and _no one's _going to care what you know."

"Save it, babe." Orton interrupted coldly. "You can stop pretending it's no big deal. I _know_ you, princess. I see that look in your eyes." He took a step forward, and Elektra moved back, feeling her shoulders hit the wall. The Legend Killer put both hands on either side of her head, applying just enough pressure to let her know that he was in control of her. "You're scared. Scared of me…but more importantly, scared of Hunter, of what he's going to do to you if he finds out. I used to see that fear in your eyes during our time in Evolution; that fear of waiting for the sword to fall." Orton smiled, and to anyone else, it would have seemed tender. "Let me ease your fears, angel. He _is_ going to come after you, and he _is_ going to hurt you…but not before I do."

Elektra brought her hand up. Before Orton could stop her, she slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave the outline of her hand emblazoned on his skin. "Dave will save me." she shot back.

Orton shook his head quickly, then swung it around back to face her. His smile was so big, she almost expected his jaw to unhinge. "Oh, I don't know about that. These Elimination Chambers are funny things. You never know who's going to be right behind you when you turn around, ready to end your career. Let me ask you a question," He paused. "If Triple H found out that his best friend had been manipulating him to take the World Title for himself, do you think he'd ignore the situation…or do something about it?"

Elektra, unfortunately, knew exactly what the Game would do, but she was not ready to give the Legend Killer any kind of satisfaction. "Hunter'll never believe you," she murmured. "And even if he would, there's no way he's going to stop long enough to listen to you."

"Maybe," Orton replied casually. "But this _is_ the World Heavyweight Championship we're talking about. I think we can both agree that that _belt_, as you so affectionately referred to it, is the only thing he cares about. He might not listen to me…but there's also a chance that he will. And is that a chance you really want to take? By the way…" The Legend Killer segued smoothly, catching Elektra off-guard. Taking one hand off her head, he reached down and lifted hers up, grasping it gently in his. "I couldn't help but notice that ring on your finger. You know, the one where most people put a wedding ring?" He traced the curve of the band with his thumb. "A little gift from Dave, perhaps?"

Elektra tried to tug her hand free, tried to control her emotions, though, by now, both were nearly impossible. "It's nothing." she muttered.

Orton raised both eyebrows. "Nothing?" he repeated mockingly. His grip tightened. "Then you won't mind if I borrow it for a little bit."

Elektra's response was reflexive; she didn't know what she was doing until it was too late. "No!" she cried out, bringing up her free hand to shield the other.

Orton smirked. "No?" He uncompromisingly pried her fingers away, bending them back until she had no choice but to relent. Elektra bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to react to the pain. "That wasn't a request, princess, it was a statement of fact. I'm going to take that ring of yours, and I'm going to use it to play a few mind games on your boyfriend out there. But first—what was it that Brock Lesner always used to say? Oh, yeah, that's right: here comes the pain, bitch."

Wrenching her wrist painfully with one hand, he grabbed onto the top strap that held her bikini top in place. With a sound of ripping fabric, he tore the seam, nearly ripping the garment from her body. Grunting in triumph, the Legend Killer pressed his body against hers, pawing at her with his free hand. Squeezing her eyes shut, Elektra finally screamed, a long wail of primal terror that seemed to emanate from every pore of her body.

There was a sudden dull TWACK, the unmistakable sound of metal hitting bone. Orton's features went slack, his expression of pleasure replaced by one of bovine-like bewilderment. His lips moved, trying to form words, but all that emerged from his mouth was a confused "Whaaa…" His whole body stiffened and he pitched forward. Elektra shrieked, pulling herself free and maneuvering out of the way before she could become caught between the Legend Killer and the wall.

Orton slammed into the wall forehead-first, spinning around in an awkward half-circle and sinking down to the floor. His eyes, now glassy and unfocused, finally drifted shut.

Elektra backed up a step, unsure as to whether Orton would suddenly loom up, Carrie-like, and grab her ankle. She became aware after a few momenta that she was more or less topless, and crossed both arms over her chest to cover herself. The silver-eyed Diva then turned around to see Trish on her feet, breathing hard, glaring down at Orton.

In her hand was a steel chair.

The Women's Champion looked up, meeting Elektra's eyes. "Evil little bastard, isn't he?" she remarked bitterly.

Elektra smiled, albeit weakly. Trish quickly stepped toward her, gently grasping her upper arms. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Elektra nodded, even though, emotionally-speaking, she was ready to dispute Trish on that point. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine."

At that moment, a male voice rang from around the corner. "I'm telling you, Chris, I heard someone screaming. It sounded like a woman." Chris Jericho came into view, the Rabid Wolverine right behind him. The two men ground to a halt when they saw the two Divas huddled together, the unconscious Legend Killer at their feet. Trish had several scrapes from the cement floor; Elektra had a bruise on her right cheek and the remains of a bikini top around her waist.

Jericho quickly walked over to them, taking hold of Trish's shoulders with both hands and turning her to face him. "Are you girls all right?" he asked, even though all of his attention was directed at the Women's Champion.

Elektra wasn't offended by his seeming lack of interest in her; she knew that the situation would have been the exact opposite if Batista had been the one walking around that corner. The fact that Jericho's first thoughts were for Trish's safety reaffirmed her belief that he was still in love with the blond Diva…and strengthened her desire to urge Trish to give the former Undisputed Champion a second chance.

Trish slowly nodded her head, biting back a wince. "Orton—he went after Elektra, and when I tried to stop him, he—" She hesitated. "We're okay, that's the important part."

"Are you _sure_?" Jericho pressed. Reaching up, he gently trailed his fingers down Trish's cheek.

For a moment or two, it seemed like the Women's Champion had lost the ability to speak. Then, she rapidly regained her composure. "I'm fine, I promise. But Elektra…" She trailed off, nodding her head toward Elektra. Behind Jericho, Benoit cleared his throat meaningfully, averting his eyes.

Jericho glanced from one Diva to the other, suddenly realizing that Elektra was essentially naked from the waist up. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry! I'm an idiot!" Stripping off his "Y2J" t-shirt, he handed it to Trish. Both men turned around so Elektra could don the shirt. It was enormous on her, but right now, she could have cared less.

When Jericho turned back around, he once again focused on Trish. The Women's Champion looked down at the ground. "Look, Chris…I need to ask you a favor—"

"Trish," Jericho interrupted gently. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

The blond Diva frowned. "But-but I haven't even told you what it is yet. Why would you…"

"Because you asked me to," Jericho interjected softly.

Elektra looked away, but it didn't matter. Even Stevie Wonder would have seen the look that passed between the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla and the Women's Champion. The grey-eyed Diva coughed, and the pair hurridly looked over, as though suddenly remembering that she was there. Elektra decided to take charge of the situation. She stared down at Orton. His forehead had been busted open after meeting the wall, and blood was trickling down his face. "Take Orton to the trainer's room, get him patched up. Just make sure you keep him away from Evolution, _especially _Triple H, understand?"

Jericho nodded. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he had known the truth for a while, but was willing to help her and Batista keep their secret. "All right. Trish, you take her back to the women's locker room. Benoit, you and I are on trash detail." He punctuated his statement with a swift kick to Orton's ribs.

"Evil little bastard," he muttered.


	40. Chapter 40: Tired Of Hiding

**Author's Note: Wow, been a long time since I've written one of these! First, I want to thank everyone who's continued to R/R. You are AWESOME! Second, just going to put this out there: I'm not that proud of this chapter, so please be kind. I was a little over-ambitious, and I think that there are just too many things going on in this one. Otherwise, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 40: Tired Of Hiding

The blow to the head must have jogged a few recollections loose, because Trish seemed to have recovered her bearings of the arena. She tugged Elektra along behind her like a small child. With her free hand, she tapped her nails nervously against the name plate of her Women's Championship.

Elektra let Trish lead her. Her head was too full of the present and the recent past to even consider protesting. The dangerously heady drug known as adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the cold harsh sensation of reality had begun to sink in. As much as she would have preferred otherwise, though, her mind kept returning to the Legend Killer; to the things he had said before a well-placed chair shot temporarily silenced him.

Orton had been dealt with, _for now_, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. Much like the zombies in a Romero film, the Legend Killer had an unpleasant habit of coming back. And right now, he possessed potentially damaging information, information which he would love nothing more than to share with Triple H as soon as possible. Logic dictated that the chances of Orton actually conveying this information during a brutal cage match with five other opponents were zero to nil, but Elektra never factored in logic when considering the Legend Killer. No matter what the odds, Randy Orton always found some way to have the last laugh.

Elektra tried to remind herself to remain positive, but with each step she took, the few tenuous strands of optimism she still possessed became more and more strained, dragged down by the ever-growing weight of defeat lodged inside her. It didn't matter how well she reasoned with herself; instinct reigned supreme in the WWE, and instinct was telling her that it was over. All that planning, all that sacrifice, ruined by one small slip of the tongue. Because of her, the Legend Killer was heading out to the Elimination Chamber with some very deadly ammunition…not to mention a little inadvertent motivation. Once Orton regained consciousness, he was going to be _pissed_.

More than anything, Elektra wanted to find Batista, to run into his arms; more importantly, to warn him about Orton before the two men were locked up together inside that enormous cage. But the silver-eyed Diva knew that scenario was a Catch-22: there was no way she could convey the message to the Animal without also alerting Triple H. If she so much as approached Batista, the Cerebral Assassin would know that something was up, and it wouldn't take him long after to put two and two together. Weighed against _that_ option, she was better off taking her chances with Orton.

Trish, meanwhile, had been chattering non-stop for the last few minutes. Her words spilled out over one another, almost too fast to be understood; she was probably talking more to combat the crushing silence than to have an actual conversation. "—Un-freaking-believable. I was out for most of it, but what I _did_ hear…the way you stood up to Randy—" The Women's Champion whistled appreciatively. "I've never heard anything like that. I mean, that wasn't just good. That was _promo_ good."

"Trish, stop." Elektra interrupted bluntly. She came to an abrupt halt, pulling her hand loose. With a sigh, she slumped against the wall, staring up at the fluorescent light panels in the ceiling. "He knows. _He knows_." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I blew it. It's over. It's all over."

Trish stopped as well, turning back to stare at the dejected Diva. "Would you relax? It's not as bad as you think—"

"How can you say that?" Elektra blurted out. "After everything that just happened, how can you even stand there and say that? It _is_ as bad as I think! You heard what he said. The _second_ Orton gets out to that ring, he's going to tell Triple H, and then…" She shuddered, rubbing her arms briskly as if she were cold. "Well, you can fill in the rest."

The Women's Champion stepped toward her, steadying her title belt with one hand and gently grasping Elektra's upper arm with the other. "Are you even _listening _to yourself?" she asked incredulously. "First of all, it's a _championship match_. Do you really expect Triple H, _of all people_, to stop everything and hold a conversation during a _championship match_? Second—" She took a firmer hold of Elektra's arm, pulling the other Diva around to face her. "Even if Randy manages to get a word in edgewise, there's no way that the Game'll believe him. Hunter hates his guts...and Randy's obviously out of his mind."

"Then why did Triple H bargain with him?" Elektra demanded. "Huh? Did you catch that part? Hunter _paid_ him to hurt Dave…to hurt _me_. If he's that desperate, what makes you think he won't at least give Randy the benefit of the doubt?"

"Look, for all we know, Orton was just talking out of his ass," Trish interrupted.

Elektra laughed abruptly, a jarring brittle sound. "Trust me, he wasn't." Her gaze slid over toward Trish. Her gray eyes were dull, like soot on a mirror's surface. "When it comes to tormenting me, Orton doesn't need to lie anymore. He knows by now that the truth, _especially_ when it comes from him, is frightening enough." Her eyes drifted back to stare at nothing again. "In his mind, everything that's ever happened to him has been my fault." Her voice fell to a whisper. "In some ways, he's worse than Triple H. Hunter never cared about me, but Randy…in his own sick twisted way, he does have feelings for me. They're just so warped by his own obsession that there's nothing left except cruelty and violence."

Elektra smiled, but the expression was just as bitter as her laugh. Her pale eyes bored into Trish's. "Don't you get it? He's not going to stop until he's taken everything from me, until he's dragged me back down with him into the darkness. Since he can't get what he really wants from me, he'll do the next best thing—he'll hurt the one person I love, knowing that there's nothing I can do to stop it." Her voice began to rise in pitch and speed, taking on that familiar note of near-insanity. "All we did was slow him down; we didn't stop him. _No one_ can stop him. He'll get in Hunter's ear, and the two of them will destroy Dave, and it'll be all my fault. And once it's over, they'll come and find me—"

Like a sapling branch pulled backward and abruptly released, Trish's hand shot up, striking the other Diva across the face. Elektra's flow of verbal hysteria ceased, and she stood there, swaying back and forth, blinking slowly in shock.

Trish pushed her Championship belt off her shoulder. It hit the floor with a dull clatter, but the blond Diva didn't take notice. She stepped close to Elektra, pressing her finger to the other Diva's lips, her expression filled with worry, but also with a kind of righteous anger. "I didn't want to have to do that…but you need to _calm the fuck down_," the Women's Champion hissed, her voice a harsh whisper. "You think you're the only person who's ever fucked up? More importantly…you think that if the Animal gets hurt out there tonight, it'll be all your fault?" She pulled back, but Elektra didn't move. She didn't reply either, merely stared back at Trish with an expression of mute surprise.

Trish continued. "I've got news for you: Dave knew the risks going in. All right? He knew what a match like this does, not just to the human anatomy, but to friendships as well. That's the reason he distanced himself from you; to make sure that no matter what happened, Triple H wouldn't have a reason to come after you." The blond Diva paused, drawing in a deep breath. "And regardless of what may happen out there, you are _not _alone, okay? _I'm _here, and so are the rest of the Divas. Jericho's on your side. Chris Benoit, too. Not to mention all the guys on this roster who hate Evolution or Randy Orton; guys who would like nothing more than to see him _and_ the Game taken down a notch. Triple H may be the Cerebral Assassin and Randy Orton may be the Legend Killer, but that does _not_ give either of them license to rape and pillage. Trust me, the locker room learned its lesson back in November. They're not going to let it happen a second time."

Trish leaned in close again, her face only an inch or two from Elektra's. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen, but it _did_. So now, the only thing you _can_ do live with it. I know that sucks, but unfortunately, that's life, sweetie. Whatever happens, happens." The Women's Champion stopped, and Elektra, even in her post-hysteric state, could see the flash of pain in her eyes. This glimpse of vulnerability was so alien and yet so familiar that it spoke of a closely-guarded anguish, one Trish had kept next to her heart for so long that it had become a part of her.

The blond Diva went on, but with some difficulty this time. "You're not the only one who wishes they could go back. A long time ago, I said some things, did some things…and I lost someone I cared about. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could go back and change things...but I can't…and neither can you."

At first, Elektra didn't respond, didn't even move. Only her lips quivered, betraying the hurricane of emotion raging inside her. Suddenly, her face crumpled, like someone crushing a paper bag. Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks like raindrops down a windowpane. Her mouth moved, but no sound came forth. Finally, after a second or two, Trish heard it; a hoarse moan, more of a plea than an answer: "_I just don't want to lose him_."

Trish's face softened, and without another word, she wrapped her arms around the gray-eyed Diva, holding her close. Elektra embraced her back, tentatively at first, then clinging to the Women's Champion like a life preserver. Over and over, she kept repeating her prayer, as though by uttering it, she could keep Batista safe. "I don't want to lose him, Trish. Please God, I don't want to lose him…"

* * *

Orton could feel the room pressing down on him from every side. The all-consuming silence blanketing his brain had gradually given way to a confused jumble of sound. After several minutes, the disorienting tangle of noises had separated themselves into individual voices, then distinct phrases and words; a sure sign that he had fully returned to consciousness.

Still, the Legend Killer continued to keep his eyes tightly closed. It wasn't any sensitivity to light or unwillingness to return to consciousness that kept him playing possum. No…it was an involuntary feeling of anxiety, a sense that if he opened his eyes, he would find himself back in that dimly-lit broom closet, surrounded by his former teammates. Only this time, Batista would be with them, cracking his knuckles, his face contorted with that primal rage.

Even with his eyes closed, Orton felt his face twitch, forming itself into a scowl. He hated being reminded that he still harbored any residual fear from that encounter last month.

Not that any of it was a result of the two beat-downs he had received that night. Randy Orton feared no one, not even the Animal, and violence was already so much a part of his daily life that having the shit beaten out of him was more of an inconvenience than anything else. No…both incidents had been cruel wake-up calls, teaching him that no matter how carefully he manipulated people, how skillfully he orchestrated events to create _his_ chosen destiny…life insisted on slithering from his grasp, hanging just out of reach, lapsing back into its original undesirable configuration.

And for some reason, each reassertion of life's cosmic plan had ended in the Legend Killer getting the absolute fuck beat out of him. Orton didn't know how the other Superstars felt about it, but he knew that he was getting just a little bit tired of being the Raw brand's punching bag. Maybe after tonight, after he won back the World Heavyweight Championship, they would finally show him the respect he deserved.

But unfortunately, he was not going to regain either one of those items by lying here and pretending to be unconscious. If he was going to be top dog on Raw once again, he would have to open his eyes and face whatever situation presented itself. Orton mentally counted to five, and then, tensing in preparation of a possible cup of water to the face, he carefully opened his eyes.

The only thing that greeted him this time was the impersonal glare of fluorescent lights. Gritting his teeth with discomfort, the Legend Killer used his elbows to push himself up into a sitting position. As he should have known, he was on a low cot in the trainer's room. Orton gingerly rotated his body until his feet made contact with the floor. He leaned against his knees for support, trying to convince himself that he did _not_ have to throw up.

The trainer, a nondescript balding man in his mid-forties, glanced up from his paperwork, eying Orton with mild disdain. After all, the Legend Killer had not exactly endeared himself to any backstage personnel during his career in the WWE. "Oh, you're up," he remarked, not even trying to sound interested. "I'd take it easy if I were you. You've got a lump the size of my fist on the back of your head, and I just finished patching up a nasty gash on your forehead. It's no surprise you suffered a concussion."

Orton winced. No wonder it felt like someone was playing Ping Pong inside his skull. He reached up, tentatively touched his forehead. Instead of smooth skin, he felt only the rough texture of a bandage. The Legend Killer frowned, ignoring the pain that flickered up to his scalp as a result. _Those goddamn sluts…_

The trainer continued. "By the way, Shawn Michaels stopped in here, wanted to see how you were doing. I told him that, in my professional opinion, you shouldn't compete tonight, so he said to tell you that if you don't show up to that ring, you forfeit your spot in the Elimination Chamber." He paused. "Now, I wasn't kidding around. The last thing you need to be doing is risking permanent injury by banging your head around in that cage." The trainer's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to one side. "But, I can already tell by the look on your face that you're not going to listen to a thing I just said, are you?"

"Shut up!" the Legend Killer grumbled. "Just shut up and give me something for the pain." Wordlessly, the trainer handed over two aspirin. Orton swallowed them dry, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. He massaged his temples with both index fingers, as though by doing so, he could somehow speed up the effects of the medication and get rid of the sledgehammer trying to split open his head. Thankfully, the initial nausea had passed. Orton gingerly rose to his feet, putting one hand against the wall to steady himself. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he did so, but he forced it back, stuffing it away in some corner of his cerebellum. There would be plenty of time to pass out once he was World Champion.

The Legend Killer looked toward the trainer again. "How'd I get here?" he asked, trying to enunciate the words clearly. During his brief stint of unconsciousness, his mouth had become bone-dry, and it was difficult spitting out a sentence without his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

The trainer shrugged. "Jericho and Benoit hauled you in here. As for the condition you were in…they didn't volunteer anything and I didn't ask." He raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Since you're up—shouldn't you be hauling your ass down to the ring?"

"Fuck off," Orton muttered under his breath, brushing past the other man rudely and stumbling out into the hall, still holding one hand to his head. The unbearable throbbing was finally starting to abate. Either the aspirin was taking effect or adrenaline was starting to kick in. Most likely, it was some combination of the two. After all, a chance to wrestle for the World Heavyweight Championship had a way of magically clearing up injuries.

The trainer, idiot that he was, was right, though. If the Legend Killer didn't get to the ramp entrance ASAP, he could kiss his World Title shot goodbye. And Orton would be damned if he was going to lose his first title opportunity in four months because of that whore Elektra and her bitch girlfriend, Trish Stratus.

Orton slammed his hand against the wall, ignoring the momentary flash of pain that shot up his arm. "Fucking bitch," he declared to the empty hallway. "Both of them—those goddamn fucking bitches." He walked forward a few steps, before realizing (with no small amount of irritation) that he was going the wrong way. Snarling impatiently, the Legend Killer halted, spun around on his heel—and almost ran smack into Maria. The rookie Diva must have been a ninja in a past life; she had come up behind him without making a sound.

Maria gasped aloud, taking a step or two backward, almost tripping over her own feet. Breathing hard, she pressed one carefully manicured hand to her chest. "Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed. Only Maria had the ability to make concern sound bubbly. "Oh my gosh! I'm _so_ sorry! I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that; I was about to pass you, but then you turned around and—" She broke off, her big eyes darting around, like those of a startled deer. "I think we gave each other a good scare." she finished.

Orton had reared back as well, almost skittering up the wall during that moment of pure unanticipated shock. But he quickly recovered, growing angry with himself in the process. How would it look for him, the _Legend Killer_, if he could let a _Diva_ get the drop on him, not once, but _twice_ in a single evening? One thing was certain: those bastards in the locker room would not let him forget it if they found out. For a brief moment, Orton considered punishing Maria for her transgression; for proving, however unintentionally, that Randy Orton was not as good as he claimed to be.

However, common sense soon prevailed. This wasn't some remote corner of the arena; this was a heavily trafficked hallway with more than a few potential witnesses. Besides, his credibility with the Raw Divas was more or less shot, thanks to Elektra and her big mouth. Orton was amazed that Maria hadn't turned and run the other way the second she realized it was him. But then again, since coming to the Raw roster, Maria had proved more than once that she was not the brightest candle on the cake.

So the Legend Killer pushed aside his frustration and instead took the opportunity to eye the rookie Diva. Not quite as stunning as Elektra, but still pretty in that blow-up doll sort of way. Perfect face, perfect body…and from the looks of that clueless expression in her eyes, an empty head to match. Maybe one evening, when he was bored, he would find out what exactly it took to get a girl like Maria Kanellis in the sack. His guess: not much.

Orton's gaze traveled downward, lingering on her chest, her ample cleavage rising and falling with each breath. As he did so, he happened to glance at her hand…at the silver ring gracing one of her slim fingers. In that moment, Orton felt his focus spiraling inward, all thoughts of sex temporarily driven from his mind. Maria vanished, replaced in his mind's eye by the figure of Elektra pressed against the wall. He could see the silver band on her finger, as clearly as if he was staring at a snapshot. He could also recall with perfect clarity the panic that flashed into her eyes when he threatened to take it. She'd never actually admitted that it came from the Animal…but didn't they always say that actions spoke louder than words?

Up close, Maria's ring was nothing like hers; the band was wider, and its surface was engraved with various designs. But from a distance…well, it would look nearly identical.

Orton heard the blood roaring in his ears, his own words keeping time with the ferocious rhythm of his heartbeat. _I'm going to take that ring…and I'm going to use it to play a few mind games on your boyfriend…_He managed not to smile; not because he didn't want to, but because the sight of his true expression would have sent Maria off screaming. And if he was going to pull off the scheme forming inside his head, he was going to need this bimbo's unwitting assistance.

Elektra may have escaped him, but if he played his cards right…the fun was just beginning.

If Maria was at all disconcerted by his overt ogling, she didn't seem to notice. In fact, she continued to stare back at him blankly, chewing on her lower lip. Orton quickly forced his features into a casual grin, hoping there was nothing evil or sinister about it. "Hey, no harm done," he replied pleasantly, brushing the incident aside with a quick wave of his hand. "Besides, if I had to let _somebody_ sneak up on me tonight, it might as well be you. Damn, angel! You look amazing tonight!"

Maria's face lit up with a relieved smile. "Thanks, Randy! You're so sweet!" She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "For a second there, I thought you were mad at me."

It took everything that Orton had not to wince when she spoke. Maria's voice, high-pitched to begin with, had the unpleasant habit of becoming even more shrill and obnoxious whenever she was excited. Right now was no exception. He wanted nothing more than to shut this airhead up by popping her right in the mouth. _Dumb as a bag of hammers…_the Legend Killer thought to himself, but what he said was: "Me? Mad? Nah." He took a step toward her, his voice matching her conspiratorial tone. "But listen, babe, there _is_ a favor I'd like to ask you…"

* * *

"_Quattro_!" the San Juan crowd chanted as the timer clicked down toward zero. "_Tres_! _Dos_! _Uno_!"

The swirl of spotlights finally focused on Batista, who had been pacing the length of his Plexiglas chamber for the majority of the match. After twenty minutes of waiting, the Animal was about to be unleashed. Or…not. The referees had just removed the padlock and length of chain holding the chamber door in place, and were trying to tug it open, but with no success. The door refused to budge. More black-and-white shirted officials gathered around, attempting to utilize their combined strength to slide back the wide pane of glass.

Batista pounded on the Plexiglas impatiently with his fist. "Come on!" he bellowed, annoyance etched on his face.

"Oh man!" Candice Michelle crowed. "_De-nied_!"

Inside the women's locker room, the atmosphere was completely different. All of the Divas were crowded around the single monitor, watching the Animal's misfortune with eager grins on their pretty faces.

Well, _almost_ all of them.

Elektra had changed into a low-cut white halter top, and with the help of Trish, had managed to snag a coveted front-row seat, directly in front of the monitor. Now, crammed next to the Women's Champion on the bench, she observed the events on-screen with a grim expression.

There had been more than a few raised eyebrows when she returned to the locker room wearing Chris Jericho's t-shirt. Any smart comments, however, had been silenced by the bruises on her face and neck, and the look of utter defeat in her eyes. When questioned, she gave them the bare bones version of the story: that Orton had attacked her and Trish for absolutely no reason. There was no reason to include any further details: her previous encounters with the Legend Killer were well-documented within the Diva roster, and the other women had come to believe (as she had long known) that Orton was nothing but a psychopath.

The other Divas were understandably outraged upon hearing this news. A chorus of threats had been voiced, most of them involving castration in one form or another. But Elektra remained mute, unable to express her deepest pain of all; one not caused by fists or boots, but by words and smiles and sly glances. All she could do was sit on the bench while the other women fussed over her, got an icepack for her face, rubbed her shoulder sympathetically. She felt like a horrible person. The Divas had gone out of their way over the last six months to reaccept her into the group, and here she was, lying to them all over again. This was just like the Eugene incident, only worse. Worse, because this time, she had brought it on herself.

In the ring, the bevy of referees finally managed to pull the chamber door open. Batista didn't even wait for it to open all the way; merely eased his massive frame through the gap and out into the main area of the Elimination Chamber. The Animal stormed onto the canvas, breaking up a submission attempt by Jericho and Benoit on Triple H.

"Well, thank God!" Victoria explained. "For a second there, I thought he was going to pull a Bill Goldberg and kick his way out."

Batista hit Jericho and Benoit with a double clothesline, knocking both Superstars off their feet. Scooping up Y2J with ease, the Animal hurled him over the ropes, directly onto the unlucky cameraman stationed inside the Chamber.

Elektra heard Trish's breath catch, and felt the blond Diva tense for an instant or two. She reached over and squeezed the other woman's hand reassuringly. She knew that in a way, Trish was as emotionally invested in this match as she was. But the Women's Champion was also hobbled by those same emotions, unable to look past her anger and fear to even show support for a man that she was obviously still in love with. So here the two of them sat, suffering in silence, destined to be nothing more but helpless witnesses to the carnage unfolding before them.

"Look at that man _go_!" Christy Hemme remarked, jarring both Divas back to the present. "Hunter better watch his ass!"

Candice glanced over at the redhead, her expression dubious. "Are you kidding?" she scoffed. "Batista's in love with Evolution. He's not going to turn his back on his best friend."

"Maybe, but remember, this is the _World Heavyweight Championship_ we're talking about here," Christy reminded her. "We all know that title gold has a way of killing friendships."

Candice rolled her eyes. "This may be the World Title, but this is also the _Animal_ that we're talking about here. Look at him." She pointed to the screen. "That man could have been Champion by now, but he's _not_, and do you know why? Because he's never wanted to be anything more than Triple H's _bitch_."

Elektra couldn't keep herself from flinching; it was as though someone had slammed a fist into her heart. But she kept her mouth clamped shut, not because of some slavish devotion to a now-ridiculous charade—but because she was afraid that if she did, she would start weeping and be unable to stop.

But Candice was not finished. The rookie Diva pushed a dark ringlet from her face as she continued. "I mean, come on! We _all_ know that he dumped Elektra for Evolution."

There was a hush as everyone in the room simultaneously sucked in a breath. _That_ had been too far, and even Candice knew it. The brunette Diva looked around nervously, her gaze finally settling on the silent figure several seats down. "Elektra, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Elektra interrupted without turning her head. But everyone could tell from the strained quality of her voice that it was far from okay.

Candice, however, seemed hell-bent on making the hole she had just dug deep enough to be her grave. The rookie Diva studied her fingernails intently, her slight Midwestern accent becoming more pronounced as her nervousness increased. "No, really, I was only trying to say that he—"

"Candice," This time, Elektra did turn around, locking eyes with the other brunette. "Stop talking." Candice's mouth instantly snapped shut like a spring-loaded trap, and she actually looked relieved. Elektra let her gaze drift around to the other Divas, who were all staring at her with a combination of interest and trepidation. Maybe they were afraid that the former vengeful bitch of Evolution would suddenly make a reappearance and rip Candice's head right off her shoulders. "I _told _you; it's _okay_. Let's all just watch the match, and keep our personal opinions to ourselves, all right?" She looked pointedly at Candice. The rookie Diva slowly nodded in assent, looking guiltily down at her lap.

Elektra turned back toward the monitor. It had taken everything she had not to burst into tears, and even now, she couldn't rid her throat of that scratchy feeling. The gray-eyed Diva rolled her gaze toward the ceiling, beseeching the unseen heavens. Why was she doing this to herself? Why was she still clinging to this farce when there was no point anymore? Orton had almost killed her to get the truth, and now that he had it, he would use it to his full advantage. Nothing she said or did from this point on would change that. So why was she still lying to the people around her?

Because she'd made a promise, that's why. She had done this so that Batista could finally become the Champion he was destined to be. He had done this so that the one person he cared about would be safe from harm. It had nearly killed both of them, but they had still gone through with it. But even Batista, as confident as he was of success, could not have foreseen the anxiety that now gripped her, the fear that even he could not withstand the Chamber.

For almost as long as she'd worried about keeping up this ridiculous pretense, Elektra had worried about Batista surviving the Elimination Chamber, _period_. Forget Orton, forget Triple H, the match itself was the type of thing that changed Superstars. The Chamber had no favorites, held no grudges. It merely sat there, surrounding the ring, a lifeless monstrosity of chain and steel, as men shed blood, sweat and tears within its confines. Men went into the Chamber, but when they came back out, they were never quite the same again.

_If_ they ever came back.

Elektra shuddered. The possibility always existed that Batista could fall victim to the Elimination Chamber, with or without the help of human monsters like Orton or the Game. She _thought_ she could handle it, but now that she was watching it unfold before her eyes, she realized just how terrified she really was for him. Elektra had meant what she said out in the corridor: she didn't want to lose him, not like this. She didn't want this match to be the one that ended his career.

Because if it was—God forbid—the last place she wanted to be was back here on this bench, pretending to hate him.

The door opened, but none of the other Divas took notice of their new visitor until Maria stepped in front of the screen, blocking everyone's view. "Hey girls! What's up?" she chirped brightly.

"Down in front!" Stacy Keibler called out from the back of the group.

Maria looked at the irritated faces before her, seemingly oblivious. "What's going on? Were you watching something?"

"_Yeah_!" Victoria retorted sarcastically. "So do you mind?" The black-haired Diva made a "Move!" gesture with her hand.

Maria glanced back at the screen, then again at the Divas. For a second or two, she looked puzzled, then comprehension finally dawned on her face, lighting it up with a brilliant smile. "Oh! Sorry about that! Let me just scoot in here…" She wedged herself on the bench next to Elektra, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulders. Still smiling, she leaned over, as though to whisper some joking comment in the silver-eyed Diva's ear. But what actually came out of Maria's mouth was a harsh whisper, terse and deadly serious. "Keep looking at the screen. Don't react; just _listen_!"

Elektra froze. The grim tone sounded so strange coming from the normally effervescent Diva. Maria lived the role that she had created; the ditzy backstage reporter notorious for botching her own interviews. She never broke character, not even around the few people who knew the truth. For her to drop her persona so abruptly like this must mean that something was really wrong. Elektra felt her stomach lurch and tumble over the edge into the abyss. _It's starting. Oh dear Jesus, it's starting…_

As though to confirm her fears, Maria's next words were: "I just ran into Randy Orton."

Despite the directive she had just received, Elektra turned toward the rookie Diva, her face blanched with horror and concern. "Oh my God, are you all right—"

"Shh!" Maria hissed, sinking her fingers into the other Diva's shoulder. Elektra didn't question; she snapped her mouth shut and turned back toward the monitor. Maria continued. "You don't have to worry; he didn't put a hand on me. He just had a very weird request." She hesitated. "He asked to borrow one of my rings."

Elektra didn't reply, but felt her brow crease in bewilderment. _What the hell_…she thought to herself.

It was as though the rookie Diva could read her thoughts. "I know, I was as confused as you are. But I didn't want to make him suspicious, so I gave it to him. It wasn't until I was walking away that I started putting shit together in my mind." She paused, and Elektra heard her take a deep breath before she changed the subject. "I was there…in the hallway…when you and Batista broke up. I saw the whole thing, but the one image…the one image that always stayed in my mind was you hurling that ring at him like a baseball. You had your back turned, but I saw him bending down to pick it up, and for just a _second_, he had this _look_…I don't know if it was pain, or love, or despair—all I know that it didn't belong. Whatever it was, it was gone so quickly that I thought I imagined it. But I always wondered…and now…"

It was so strange hearing those words in that voice, like hearing Barbie discuss foreign policy. "Don't ask me where these ideas are coming from. Don't ask me why that's the first thought that popped into my head. Right now, I feel like I'm going out of my mind; like I'm making something out of nothing. All I know for sure is that you are the only Diva that Randy's ever given a damn about, good _or_ bad. So I kept telling myself…and this is the really insane part...I kept saying that if I came back here and I didn't see a ring on your finger, then there was no reason to worry. It was just me going crazy. But then I did…"

Her voice faltered for a moment. "Believe me, I would love nothing more right now than hear you say that I'm out of my fucking mind. Because if any of what I'm thinking is _right_…then what Randy has planned involves not only you…but Dave as well." Her grip on Elektra's shoulder tightened, almost painfully so. "Tell me that I'm crazy. Tell me that it's not as bad as I think it is." The rookie Diva's voice had become panicked. Elektra could feel the desperation oozing out of her.

The gray-eyed Diva sat absolutely still for a few seconds. When she spoke, even her lips barely moved. "It's not as bad as you think." She felt Maria sag slightly with relief. Elektra turned her head slowly, as though it was mounted on a swivel. She met Maria's eyes, noting the tinge of fear still brimming in their depths. Funny, because all she felt was a cold numbness. Her last two words were uttered in a flat whisper: "_It's worse_."

Maria's eyes widened, until there was a ring of white all around her irises. And then Elektra heard, through the blanketing fog of deadness, the sound of a hand hitting canvas: 1…2…3…She turned toward the screen, and saw that the Animal had just pinned Chris Jericho. Benoit was nowhere in sight, and Edge had been eliminated long before. The contenders for the vacant World Heavyweight Championship were now down to Batista, Triple H—and Randy Orton.

The Game was in a bad way; he had been busted open on one of the Chamber's chain-mesh sides and now slumped against a turnbuckle post, blood masking his features. Orton was little better; still dazed from a huge clothesline that had almost turned him inside out, he was just now starting to show some life again. Batista was the only one up and apparently unscathed; he glanced back and forth between the two figures, no doubt uncertain as to who to take on first. Finally, after several long seconds, he turned his back on Orton, advancing slowly toward the Cerebral Assassin.

In that moment, the puzzle pieces fell into place, the final layer of the Rubik's cube snapped into position, and Elektra could see, with a sense of awful clarity, the whole picture for the first time. For that moment, time itself seemed to hesitate as the repressed emotion inside her began to build up, pushing against the wall of indifference she had surrounded herself with. Then she felt something inside her snap; she actually _heard_ it, like the soft musical PING of a piano wire breaking. And without warning, the wave of emotion crashed over her, washing away the numbness and the indecision. Elektra gasped at the shock of it; it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over her head. With an abruptness that almost made her lose her balance, she rose to her feet, eyes still glued to the television monitor.

"_Down in front_!" Stacy yelled again, more out of reflex than actual annoyance. Elektra ignored the leggy Diva; she could barely hear her anyway over the sound of her heart thudding in her ears.

Trish looked up now, concern spreading across her face. "Elektra? Hon…what's wrong? What is it?"

"Nothing's wrong," Elektra heard her voice as though from across a great distance. Her heart must be sharing space with her brain now, because her whole head was pounding. "But I have to go."

Before she could take a step, Trish grabbed for her wrist, caught it, and held on tight. "Hon, no…_please_. Just sit down and watch the match. It'll all be over soon, I promise."

"No, Trish," Elektra couldn't believe how normal she sounded; so unconcerned. "No…I _have_ to go." The Women's Champion had hold of her wrist with both hands, yet she still pulled her hand with little effort. With long rapid strides, she crossed the room, grasping the door handle. As she did, she stopped, turning back toward the Divas one final time.

By now, all of the other women had forgotten about the match; they were too busy staring at her with open mouths. Elektra let her eyes drift over the various beautiful puzzled faces before her. What could she possibly say to make them understand? The gray-eyed Diva glanced down, her gaze lingering on the ring adorning her finger. When she looked back up, her pale irises glistened with a sheen of tears. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her tone regretful. "I'm sorry…that I couldn't trust you."

Victoria was the first one to step forward. "What—" she began, but by then, Elektra was already out the door and gone.

Trish just sat locked in place on the bench, staring at the spot where Elektra had stood. Then, like a breaker switch had been flipped in her mind, her paralysis passed and the blond Diva leapt to her feet. She was about to reach for the door when Victoria grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back toward the group. Trish didn't resist; Victoria was easily the stronger of the two of them. A look of distrust had already crept onto the raven-haired Diva's face.

"What was _that _all about?" the former Women's Champion demanded. "I think I'm not alone here when I say just what the _hell_ is going on?"

Trish gently pulled herself free. "I'll explain later, Vic, just let me go, please. I have to stop her before—" She stopped, unsure at this point of what she should reveal.

"Before what?" Victoria pressed. "What exactly is Elektra trying to do?" Her brows came together in a frown. "She's not going back to Hunter…is she?"

Trish shook her head, somehow relieved that this impossibility was the worst case scenario. "No…no, if anything, Vic, she's trying to make sure that he never bothers her again."

* * *

Trish ran at full speed down the hallway, taking turns more out of instinct than any kind of conscious memory. For a second, she thought that she had lost Elektra, but then she rounded the final corridor and saw the other Diva at the far end. Forcing one last burst of speed out her body, the Women's Champion sprinted toward her, catching Elektra in mid-stride and turning her bodily around. She almost gasped when she saw the expression on the silver-eyed Diva's face. Half an hour ago, there had been nothing but defeat in Elektra's eyes. Now, there was white-hot emotion in her expression; anger and passion and love surrounding her like an aura. Elektra didn't just look angry; for the first time in two weeks, she looked _alive_.

"Elektra," Trish gasped out between huge gulps of air. "Whatever you're thinking—don't."

"Trish, you don't understand," Elektra's voice was calm, even. "I'm going out there."

"Why?" Trish blurted out. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" She realized that she was practically shouting and lowered her voice. "Thirty minutes ago, you were sobbing over something that _might_ happen. Now, you're ready to guarantee that it _does_ happen. Why? You know the second you walk there, Hunter's going to know the truth."

Elektra leaned forward, her tone clipped. "Then let him."

Trish stared back at her, aghast. "Have you completely lost it?" she whispered. "What, you think you're going to change things by going out there? Let me enlighten you: you _will_, and _not_ for the better. After everything that you've been through…that _we've_ been through…you're going to let it be all for nothing?" She gently took hold of Elektra's wrist. "Come on, hon, let's just go back to the locker room, and watch the end of the match."

"No!" Elektra's response was so vehement, it shocked Trish into silence. The gray-eyed Diva yanked her hand free, continuing. "I am _through_ with running away! My entire career, all I've ever done is hide—behind Hunter, behind Randy…even behind Dave. And even when I've stood up to one of them, whether it be Orton or the Game, I've always been hiding behind someone else. Well, I'm _tired_ of hiding. I'm tired of being afraid. I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, my heart racing so fast that I can't _breathe_."

She paused for breath. "I tell Orton that he's just trying to be like Triple H…but they really _are_ alike. They both know that I'm afraid of them, and they feed off of that fear, like a couple of vampires. They play their little games, knowing that I'll just run to Dave, knowing that I'll never stand up to them directly. It doesn't matter what happens out there tonight; as long as I'm afraid, they'll still keep coming after this, because they know they can. They'll never stop…until I make it stop."

Elektra had been staring at the floor, but now her eyes focused on Trish again. Her gaze was piercing, like the keen edge of a knife. Her words spilled out over one another, like an ever-flowing stream of water. "Trish, don't ask me how, but for the first time, everything's so _clear_. Dave and I…we've been doing this all wrong. Tonight was supposed to be about proving yourself, proving that you _belong_. Right now, Dave is out there, proving to the world and Triple H that he deserves to be Champion. He pushed me away…because he was afraid…and I let him, because I was afraid, too. But if I let him do it now, he's going to be pushing me away for the rest of his career. The only way I can prove that I want to be a part of his world is if I go out there and look those two bastards in the eye. If I show them that I'm not afraid anymore of what _might_ happen."

The silver-eyed Diva took a step forward. "Don't you see? I _love_ Dave. I want to share my life with him. I'm going out there because supporting him at ringside is where I will _always_ be. I'm not going to just fade away into the background." She laughed, albeit a little bitterly. "And that's _always_ scared the hell of Hunter; the connection that Dave and I have. I mean, look at him: he called a hit out on Dave, just to teach _me_ a lesson. He knows that he can't beat us, so he tries to make me go away by calling what we have a weakness. But it's _not_ a weakness, Trish, it's a _strength_. And if I let Hunter take that away from me, if I let him take _Dave_ away from me, all because he's _threatened_ by me…then, in a way, hasn't he already won?"

Trish couldn't speak for a while; her heart was still pounding after listening to that outpouring of emotion. Finally, she slowly shook her head, her lips curving into a half-smile. "Sheesh," the blond Diva remarked. "_Finally_, you're starting to make some sense." She pulled Elektra into a quick hug. "Be careful out there, hon, okay? Watch your back."

"He still loves you, you know?" Elektra's reply was so abrupt and unexpected that if Trish hadn't been holding onto her, the Women's Champion would have fallen over.

Trish pulled back, confusion gleaming in her eyes, but also now, a small twinkle of hope. "Who?" she asked slowly, though by the tone of her voice, she already knew the answer.

Elektra shook her head, smiling. "Do I even need to say his name?" She glanced over her shoulder. "He's probably in the trainer's room by now. If you hurry, you can still catch him."

Trish blinked a few times, struggling to speak. "Elektra, I—"

The gray-eyed Diva reached out, grabbing Trish by the shoulders, her expression serious. "You told me once that we can't go back. Maybe we can't…but sometimes, life gives us second chances." She stared Trish directly in the eye. "Don't give up on him. Don't let him go this time, because deep down…you still love him, too." She pulled away, running off down the corridor before Trish could respond.

The Women's Champion sank to her knees, pressing her fist against her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs as tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

Up ahead of her, Elektra could hear the roar of the fans, and it filled her with warmth, surrounding her like a protective shield. Just ten short feet away was the familiar black curtain, and beyond it, Hell on Earth.

So Triple H had made a deal with the Devil to get rid of her. Big deal: all it did was show just how desperate he really was, focusing on her when he had much bigger (and angrier) problems to worry about.

So Orton had another little scheme up his sleeve, planning to throw Batista off-balance; planning to turn the Game against the Animal and maybe steal himself a World Title in the process. He was probably gloating right now, thinking that he had her good and scared, thinking that there was no way she could find out, let alone stop him. Well, he thought wrong.

As Elektra reached out in front of her, her fingertips brushing fabric, Batista's face popped into her mind, some of his last words to her echoing in her brain.

_I love you…No matter what I say out there, you remember that…_

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was his weakness. But maybe, at the same time, she was also the thing that made him stronger.


	41. Chapter 41: You Brought This On Yourself

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Just a heads-up, this chapter and the one that follows were originally one chapter. However, after getting about halfway through, I ran out of patience and chopped it in half. As always, read, review, and (hopefully) enjoy! For those who have already done so, you are AWESOME!**

**In a side note, I got to have my copy of Batista Unleashed signed by Dave Batista himself last week! Woot!**

* * *

Chapter 41: You Brought This On Yourself

In spite of the heat, in spite of the noise, and in spite of the indescribable agony, Randy Orton still managed to smile to himself.

True, karma really was a two-faced resentful bitch, and true, she had a knack for making him pay for his misdeeds. But regardless of all that, life always managed to grant him some small measure of good fortune. During the past year alone, Orton had had the rug yanked out from underneath him on more than one occasion. But somehow, in the midst of all that personal misfortune, he'd still been able to have the last word, to add the final exclamation point to the sentence.

Right now was no exception. In the past thirteen days, the Legend Killer had lost a one-on-one title shot, a large monetary sum, and most recently, his dignity, courtesy of Trish Stratus and a steel chair. He'd entered the Elimination Chamber with absolutely no advantages: he was coming off the heels of a concussion, with no guarantee as to exactly when he would be released into that steel hellhole.

It didn't even matter what he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, the little silver-eyed cunt was right; there was no way that Triple H would believe him. Hunter was just like the rest of the roster: he demanded proof, something he could touch, something he could _see_. And all Orton had managed to glean from his encounter with Elektra was a handful of words, nothing more. Words had their own power, but unfortunately, not in this environment. It didn't matter what he had to say; the Cerebral Assassin would need to _see_ it to believe it. So unless the Legend Killer could find a way to drag that lying bitch out there with him, he could forget about using her to turn the Game against the Animal.

But then, the heavens had opened up, placing that normally useless waste of sperm and egg known as Maria right in his path. Turned out that she really _did_ serve a purpose after all. Coaxing that ring away from her had been almost too easy. If she could give up a piece of jewelry that easily, how much more would it take to get in her pants? However, Orton had pushed that thought aside. There were much more important things to worry about.

He'd secured the ring to his boot with a wide strip of black gaff tape, keeping it within easy range and camouflaging it at the same time. Then, he'd hurried down to gorilla, just in time to make his entrance into the arena. From that point on, he'd waited patiently inside his Plexiglas prison, knowing that the very nature of an Elimination Chamber provided very little room (if any at all) for psychological warfare. The scene inside the gigantic metal cage was pure physicality; if he wasn't careful, one well-timed Spear or Lionsault could eliminate him from the competition altogether. He also couldn't ignore the fact that the earlier he entered the Chamber itself, the lesser were his chances of making it through to the end.

But, lo and behold, fortune had once again smiled down on him, because Orton found himself released into the Elimination Chamber next to last. All he had to do after that was survive five more minutes, before letting the newly unleashed Animal efficiently strip away the dead weight of the competition. No offense to Edge, Jericho or Benoit: they were all decent Superstars in their own right. But this contest had never really been about them; they were merely there to fill in the blank spaces.

So now it was down to the three that mattered: Triple H, Batista, and himself. Three men, not quite enemies, not quite allies, whose lives had been united by one faction, one title belt…and one woman. None of them could deny that their varied relationships with Elektra had had an enormous impact on all of their lives, whether it was through love, hate, or some strange mixture of the two. And once you got right down to it, wasn't she just as much a symbol of power as the World Heavyweight Championship?

The Legend Killer was not spiritual by any stretch of the imagination, but he couldn't help but appreciate the cosmic harmony of the situation; the way that things were lined up so perfectly at this precise moment. Revenge and the World Heavyweight Championship…both were so within his reach that he could practically touch them.

The arena was solidly behind him, cheering him on toward this inevitable victory. To them, he was their hero, their white knight, the man who was going to reclaim his World Title tonight and finally defeat Triple H. Little did any of them know just how much he hated this uncomfortable babyface persona. It was infuriating; having to play the hero when all he wanted to be was the villain. After all, you couldn't have light without darkness; white without black; good without evil.

And besides, it was _so_ much more fun to be bad.

From his limited vantage point on the canvas and through half-closed eyes, Orton saw Batista glance back and forth between him and the Cerebral Assassin. The Legend Killer was sure that he would have to endure a second pummeling, but to his surprise, the Animal turned his body toward the Game, walking toward Evolution's leader with slow, measured paces. It looked like the rumors about Batista taking the World Title for himself had actually turned out to be true.

However, Orton was not about to let his disbelief outweigh his determination. With a sudden burst of strength, he rolled over onto his side, his back to the other two Superstars. He gritted his teeth and clutched his ankle, selling an imaginary injury. As subtly as he could, the Legend Killer peeled back the tape from his boot, his fingers searching for and locating the small metal band. Carefully, he pulled it from the adhesive, gripping the ring tightly in his hand. Keeping his fist clenched, he rolled back over, making a show out of returning to his senses. In actuality, however, he was closely observing Batista and the Game.

Several feet ahead of him, the Animal came to a halt in front of Triple H, staring down at the Cerebral Assassin. Orton couldn't see Batista's expression, but he could picture the look of cold stoicism. The Game, his movements lethargic, finally looked up, trying to blink away the blood streaming into his eyes.

Batista's hand twitched, flexed, and with the sudden swiftness of a lightning bolt, he curled his fingers into a fist, bringing it up and swinging it down toward Triple H's already wounded face. The Cerebral Assassin flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to lift his arms up to shield himself from the blow. But with a degree of control Orton wouldn't have thought the Animal capable of, Batista's fist ground to a halt less than an inch from the Game's rather prominent nose.

Triple H remained frozen for a few seconds, still expecting to be hit. When the punch never came, he hesitantly opened one eye, then the other, realizing that the Animal was just messing with him. Even from a distance, Orton could see the initial fear still gleaming in his eyes, an emotion which was quickly replaced by embarrassment, then anger.

Batista shook his head, as if to say _You poor dope_…and opened his fist, extending it palm upward. The Cerebral Assassin looked at it for a moment or two, then seized the Animal's hand in a strong grip, allowing Batista to bodily pull him up to his feet. The Animal slung his arm around the Game's shoulders, half-supporting him, leaning in close and talking in a low voice.

Orton couldn't hear their conversation, but then he saw Batista gesturing in his direction, and Triple H nodding. In that brief ripple of time, Orton saw the Animal's ulterior motive, as clearly as if he'd heard it from Batista himself. It didn't take a genius to figure out the dialogue that was taking place: _Let's work together, take out Orton, guarantee that he _never_ holds that title again_. And once they had used their combined power and strength to eliminate him from the competition, the Animal would turn on the Game and capture the World Heavyweight Championship for himself. It was so obvious; Orton was amazed that Triple H didn't see what was going on. Either the Cerebral Assassin had taken too many shots to the head or else he was still in complete denial about Batista's loyalties.

The Legend Killer kept his head down, pretending to be unaware of the impending double-team. In reality, though, his mind hummed with activity. In triple-threat scenarios, it was an inevitability that two of the Superstars would loosely align themselves against the third. And right now, with two Evolution members in the opposite corner, Orton was almost certainly the odd man out. But that was the funny thing about triple-threat matches; they always hinged on that delicate balance of power; those fragile alliances that could shift so suddenly. At this moment, the odds were against the Legend Killer, but maybe, just maybe, he could tip the scales in the opposite direction.

And maybe, if he was lucky, he could tip them against the Animal.

For a second, the Legend Killer wondered why he was even bothering to aid Triple H. After all, wasn't this the man who had booted him from Evolution? Who had taken his World Heavyweight Championship? Who had knocked him from the title hunt for almost four months? The Game hated him, treated him like a joke, still managed to keep him down even though his ties with Evolution had been long severed. Wouldn't it be so much easier just to sit back and let Batista decimate the Cerebral Assassin? It certainly would be entertaining, watching the great Triple H fall, seeing the look of comprehension and horror in his eyes as he finally understood what it felt like to have someone you trust stab you in the back. So why was he trying to prevent the inevitable?

To Orton, the answer was clear: if there was one man he hated even more than the Game, it was Dave Batista. The Animal as Champion—now _there_ was a fucking joke. Dave was a powerhouse, nothing more. All he had ever brought to the table was brute power, and brute power only took you so far. He didn't have what it took to be a _real_ champion.

_Dave is nowhere near your league…_Wasn't that what Triple H and Flair had always told him in the past? Whenever Orton had become frustrated with his role in Evolution, thinking that he was wasting his time, the Game and the Nature Boy were always quick to remind him that _he_ was the real future of this business, not Batista. But now, months later, where were these same assurances? The Legend Killer was on the outside, scrabbling for locker room status, while the Animal was still comfortably within the ranks of Evolution. Batista had taken everything that was rightfully Orton's—his spot as Evolution's heir-apparent, the respect of Hunter and Flair…and the only Diva on the roster worthy of the Legend Killer's attention. But there was one thing that he had yet to attain—and that was the World Heavyweight Championship. And Orton would be damned if he would let him take that too.

Orton slowly pulled himself up, forcing back the pain. He rose to one knee, leaning on the other for support. He took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head and mentally steel himself at the same time. After several long seconds, the Legend Killer finally looked up. As he did so, he inadvertently locked eyes with the Animal.

Batista gave him a cursory glance; one filled more with disinterest than dislike. He turned back towards the Game…then froze for a moment or two. Slowly, almost too slowly to be considered a double-take, he focused his attention back on Orton. His expression remained unchanged, but now there was a spark of wariness in his eyes. Something about the Legend Killer had set off warning bells in his head; though it was evident he didn't know exactly _what_.

Orton dropped his chin back toward his chest, keeping his eyes on the Animal. Peering out from under his brow, he finally allowed himself to smile. Not the confident smile of a Superstar in control, but the twisted smirk of a man whose greatest pleasures come from the cruelty he inflicts on others. _This_ was the smile that would have sent Maria fleeing in terror. _This _was the true face of the Legend Killer.

Batista knew this; he recognized this, and for a brief handful of seconds, his stoic expression faltered. Just as quickly, the stony countenance was back in place, but in that small moment in time, Orton had glimpsed the Animal's single weakness. His smile broadened.

"Hey, Dave!" he called out, his deep voice ringing out across the expanse of the ring. His tone was mocking. "I ran into Elektra backstage, and all I can say is…Damn!" Orton whistled appreciatively. "Smoking hot as usual. Man, if I were the one hitting that…" He let the thought trail off. Over on the other side of the ring, Batista's face didn't change, but his huge body began to tremble with pent-up anger.

The Legend Killer continued as though he didn't notice. "You…you don't mind if I ask her out, do ya, Dave? I mean, since you two _broke up_ and everything." He rose carefully to his feet, looking at the Animal expectantly. Batista's face had turned a dark mottled red; his jaw twitching. He was breathing in and out very heavily through his nostrils. At his sides, his fists were clenched so tight that the knuckles had turned white.

Triple H glanced from him to Orton, realizing that he was witnessing something more than just simple trash talk. Confusion was etched across his face, but with each passing second, that bewilderment was giving way to a mixture of comprehension…and anger. He may not have been consciously aware of it, but in his heart, the Game had already figured out the truth. And as each moment ticked by, more and more pieces were added to the jigsaw puzzle in his mind, creating an image both unbelievable and shockingly true. Even as he was resisting it, the Cerebral Assassin was starting to understand.

Now Orton held his hand up, opening his fist, rolling the ring between thumb and forefinger. "By the way…does _this_ mean anything to you?" He paused a second time. The Animal didn't answer; didn't even flinch. The only telling feature about him was his eyes. The second that Orton pulled out the ring, Batista's gaze had been anchored to it, the same way that a moth is inexorably drawn toward a flame. His silence, the way his eyes saw that silver band and nothing else, was more of an answer than any combination of words. The Legend Killer smirked. "I thought so. Guess that's why she didn't want to give it up." He shrugged, still rolling the ring back and forth absently, like he was rubbing a worry stone. "Waste of money if you ask me. After all, that bitch'll fuck anything that moves—"

Roaring, the Animal came at him with all the speed and force of a charging bull. With one hand, he grabbed Orton around the throat, lifting him up to the tips of his boots. "You sick fuck, _where is she_?" he bellowed, his eyes burning with unimaginable fury. His gaze burned into the Legend Killer's. "What did you do to her?" His lips were actually drawn back from his teeth, like a snarling beast. "If you hurt her…" Batista let the sentence trail off, wrapping his other hand around Orton's neck. Gritting his teeth, he started to squeeze.

The Legend Killer's face began to turn purple from lack of air, but yet, he still grinned down at the Animal. In that split-second before Batista had attacked, a plethora of emotions had flashed across his face. Most of them had been predictable: rage, hatred, disgust. But Orton relished the fact that the very first emotion he had seen break through Batista's blank expression had been fear. After almost two years, he had finally found what scared the Animal.

His smile must have thrown off Batista, because the Animal loosened his grip for a second or two. A burst of oxygen slammed into Orton's body, temporarily allowing him powers of speech. "Nothing," he managed to say, his voice both placating and menacing. "I didn't touch her. She's fine. See?" To prove his point, he lifted up his hand, grimacing with the effort.

Without letting go, Batista narrowed his eyes, staring at the piece of jewelry accusingly, as though it were the one responsible. After several long seconds, he brought his gaze back to Orton. Even the overwhelming rage couldn't mask the relief in his demeanor. But a new expression was forming on the Animal's sharp-featured face: a sense of dawning awareness; a sick realization that he had been lured into a trap and that the door had just banged shut behind him.

Orton smiled, but this time, it was filled with cruel satisfaction. "How does it feel, Dave?" he whispered with difficulty, but with no less malice. "How does it feel…now that the joke's on you?" His voice fell, and when he spoke, only Batista heard his words: "Don't worry…I'll take good care of her."

Growling wordlessly, the Animal swatted the ring from Orton's fingers. The silver band danced and rolled, dinging softly as it connected with the tempered steel surrounding the ring. His eyes bulging with rage, Batista raised his hand back up to encircle the Legend Killer's neck. He lifted the youngest World Heavyweight Champion off the floor, shaking him violently as he tightened his grip. The fans booed, enraged at seeing their hero manhandled with so little respect. In the corner, Triple H watched, making no move to stop the Animal. Even Shawn Michaels hung back, unsure that his authority as referee could call off Batista and unwilling to test its effectiveness.

Batista was unaware of any of this. He didn't care about the fans, about the referee, or about Triple H. He didn't even care about the title anymore. The only thing that he wanted, the _only thing_ that would give him supreme satisfaction, was to squeeze and squeeze until Orton's beady little eyes popped right out of his head, until his smug smirk contorted with terror. Because he knew, he _knew_, that Orton was lying. He _had_ done something to Elektra; Batista could sense it deep in his gut. An image popped, unbidden, into the Animal's mind; the memory of Elektra's bloodied and swollen face after Triple H had beaten the hell out of her. She could be lying unconscious in a hallway somewhere, and there was nothing he could do about it. As long as he was in this match, he was powerless, trapped inside this steel prison, unable to assuage his fears. The only thing he could do was take out all of his frustration and fear and wrath on the self-proclaimed Legend Killer.

By now, Orton's body had gone limp. His long limbs were flopping around awkwardly, like a scarecrow's. His eyes had rolled back into his head, exposing only the whites. Now the Heartbreak Kid was at his elbow, tugging insistently at his arms, trying to force the Animal to relinquish the hold. "Come on, Dave," he ordered, quietly but firmly. "That's enough. Let him go or I'm going to have to start counting."

Shrugging off Shawn Michaels, Batista tossed Orton to the mat like the sack of garbage that he was. The Legend Killer hit the canvas hard, bouncing slightly. The Animal stared down at him without pity, sorry only that he hadn't finished the job. Then slowly, deliberately, he turned around to face the Game.

During this time, the Cerebral Assassin had recovered enough to take a few tentative steps out toward the center. However, as soon as he saw that Batista's focus had returned to him, he froze, then backed up. His face was coated in blood, but his emotions were still visibly etched across his features: apprehension, confusion, and no small amount of anger. Anger towards the Animal…and also, toward himself.

His ire wasn't surprising; Batista had been expecting it. After all, Triple H was supposed to be the master of manipulation—but, in the end, had still fallen victim to his own breed of mind games. Batista had made him look like a fool, and both of them knew it. The Game had been betrayed…by one of the few Superstars he thought he could trust. Even from across the ring and over the roar of fans, the Animal couldn't miss the Cerebral Assassin's clipped tone. His voice was cold and tight with barely contained wrath, but also tinged with a hint of fear.

"You fucking liar," he spat. "You son of a bitch, you_ played _me. You and that—" He stopped, perhaps remembering that any derogatory reference to Elektra was likely to be met with an explosion of violence. The unconscious form of Randy Orton lying several feet was more than enough proof to that effect. Triple H's mouth snapped shut, but his eyes blazed with fury.

Batista attempted to keep his expression stoic and emotionless. Unfortunately, the more he thought about the possible condition of the woman he loved, the harder it became. He had put Elektra in danger, had placed her in the path of Randy Orton, all because of the man standing in front of him; a man who, only a year ago, he had considered his mentor and his friend. But things had changed, and now the Animal felt only contempt when he looked at the Game. If anything had happened to Elektra, he would have no qualms about laying the blame at the Cerebral Assassin's feet.

Batista looked down at his hands; hands which only moments ago had tried to crush the life out of the Legend Killer. Triple H had brought him into Evolution nearly two years ago because he had a physique that few could match and the strength and power to back it up. Even though he easily dominated his opponents, he knew that he lacked big-match experience, and thus had always accepted the Cerebral Assassin's claims that he just wasn't ready to be Champion. Never once had he entertained the notion that the Game was trying to keep him out of the title picture; was trying to keep him down, _period_.

If he hadn't fallen in love with Elektra, he would still be believing that crap. From the moment the gray-eyed Diva had stepped into his life, everything he had achieved so far ceased to mean anything. From that point on, all he had wanted was her. It had been Elektra who had seen a champion where everyone else saw a cleanup man. And it had been Elektra who had forced him to use common sense, to look at his position within Evolution from a logical point of view. Once he did that, the Animal was astonished to see how far back the roots of his disillusionment lay. He remembered the doubts he had entertained after SummerSlam, doubts he had told no one else; quiet whispers of discord suggesting that if Randy Orton could become Champion...why couldn't he?

In watching the Game mistreat Elektra, the Animal was able to see his mentor for what he really was: a sadistic paranoid Champion obsessed with title gold and status and terrified of losing it. Batista despised Triple H for what he had done to Elektra, but at the same time, he also had to thank him for making this moment of decision that much easier. This untapped, unspoken rivalry between them had started with Elektra—it would end tonight with the World Heavyweight Championship.

The Animal continued to stare at his hands, and as he watched, they slowly closed into fists. He looked back up, his eyes locking onto the Game. He didn't know what his expression looked like now, but whatever it was, it was enough to make the Cerebral Assassin grind to a halt; enough to make the rage drain from his eyes.

Triple H quickly recovered from his momentary paralysis and stepped back a few more paces, colliding awkwardly with the turnbuckle post. Hesitantly, he stretched out his arms, palms up, as though pleading with Batista. Maybe he was. Maybe now he finally recognized what he had always tried to deny: that the biggest threat to his title had been right there in Evolution with him the whole time; a threat which was now advancing toward him like a human glacier. The Game's tone, furious a minute ago, now became more and more beseeching: "Dave, c'mon, think about what you're doing," he blurted out, his voice wheedling. "I mean…after everything we've been through…is this really how you want it to end? You want to throw it all away because of that bi—because of her?"

"You self-righteous son of a bitch," Batista couldn't tell if he had uttered those words or if they were merely in his head. To tell the truth, he really didn't care. "You didn't give a damn about her. She gave you everything she had—and you treated her like shit."

Triple H either couldn't hear the Animal's comments or else he was ignoring them. "It doesn't have to be like this, Dave. You, me, Ric—we've had some good times together. It can be like it used to."

Batista, however, never paused. His pace remained even and measured; a walk worthy of the Undertaker. All the while, he kept talking, his lips barely moving, in a voice that probably only he could hear. "She still has nightmares because of you, did you know that? And when she wakes up screaming, all I can do is hold her and tell her that everything's going to be okay. But it's _not_ okay—not as long as you're here. And if the only way I can fix it is by beating your ass—" The Animal's eyes narrowed. "So be it."

He was less than two feet away from the Cerebral Assassin. By now, the Game had shrunk back against the turnbuckle post as far as he was able. His voice had lost all of its bravado, but yet he kept talking, trying to hold off an impending beating with words that held zero confidence. "Dave…c'mon…you and me—we're Evolution…we're brothers…right?"

Outside the Chamber, Flair was screaming out warnings at the top of his lungs, but to Batista, the sound was meaningless, like a mosquito buzzing in the background. All of his attention was on Triple H. For the first time, the Animal's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Brothers, huh?" he mused thoughtfully. He leaned closer, enjoying seeing Triple H flinch in terror. "Well, let me ask you, _bro_…do you hate her because she dumped you—or because she chose me?"

For a moment, all of the background noise hushed into silence as Batista tensed, preparing to deliver the beat-down that would end his tenure in Evolution. But then without warning, the din rushed back into his head so violently that he winced. The roars of the fans had unexpectedly quadrupled in volume, so much that he couldn't block it out. From the sound of it, a new Superstar was making their way down to the ring, one with the power to affect the outcome of the match.

Still, the Animal was reluctant to take his focus off of the Cerebral Assassin. For all he knew, this was just another one of the Game's elaborate schemes, a contingency plan to ensure his tenth title reign. And right now, Batista had Triple H exactly where he wanted him: backed into a corner, nowhere to run, and no allies left. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of pink and white, a fluid blur of motion in his peripherals, that he finally glanced over out of reflex. What he saw was enough to push even thoughts of revenge from his mind.

Elektra was outside the Chamber, feet planted apart, hands gripping the wide links of chain, peering into the cage with an expression of focused determination. Her posture, her demeanor, were so familiar that she didn't even look out of place. It was as though she had been there from the start of the match, cheering him on like she had at countless contests before. A few feet away, Flair was frozen in place, his mouth hanging open, staring at her as though he had just seen a ghost.

Batista blinked, actually squeezed his eyes shut for a second or two, convinced that he was hallucinating, that the pressure of the match was just affecting his brain. But when he opened them again, the slim figure of the gray-eyed Diva remained in the exact same spot. Her eyes locked onto his, and just like that, everything else surrounding them disappeared. Elektra moved back a pace, pressing one palm against the chain links, her lips parted in surprise. It was as though she too couldn't believe that she was actually out here. Several seconds passed, and all Batista could feel was the cheers of the San Juan crowd, their cries pulsating up through his body like a second heartbeat. He suddenly realized they were rooting for him. These fans, who hated Triple H, who hated Evolution, were rooting for _him_. He could see from the look in Elektra's silvery irises that she felt it, too.

It was this unanticipated show of support that snapped Batista of his state of shock. Forgetting about the Game, forgetting about Orton, disregarding everything else, the Animal stepped back, maneuvering his massive frame through the ropes and walking out across the metal grate encompassing the squared circle.

Elektra, meanwhile, was trying to fend off referees Jack Doan and Mike Chioda, who had magically appeared on either side. They were both attempting to persuade her to return to the locker room, each with very little success. Their attitude wasn't surprising. Ric Flair at ringside for an Elimination Chamber match was one thing; the Nature Boy had thirty-plus years of experience under his belt, and knew how to handle himself in these situations. But Elektra? Divas and barbaric stipulations matches simply didn't mix.

Batista didn't disagree with them. If it had been up to him, he would have carried her out of here over his shoulder. But he was trapped inside this cage, and knowing Elektra, unless these refs were willing to bodily remove her from the arena, all three of them would be wasting their breath trying to convince her otherwise.

As though understanding this, Doan put his arm lightly on her arm, but the silver-eyed Diva jerked free. Pushing back the two officials, she grabbed hold of the side of the Chamber, and putting one foot on the edge of the base, pulled herself up onto the very edge of the apron. Now she was face to face with the Animal, clinging to the outer wall of the cage like a spider hanging onto its web.

Batista approached her hesitantly, still half-believing that the vision of Elektra before him was merely a mirage, ready to melt into nothingness as soon as he drew near. Just as it had been at Armageddon, the World title no longer meant anything; all he desired was to pull her into his arms and never let go. The Animal reached out with one arm, drawing closer and closer, fully expecting his hand to pass right through her. But then his fingertips touched warm skin and he knew, finally, that it was true, that she was really here.

Their fingers entwined, locked together over the chain. Elektra pressed her face closer to the cage, and Batista reached through with his free hand, caressing her cheek. For once, his size was a hindrance rather than an asset; he couldn't even get his whole hand through the gaps of the Chamber wall. The Animal growled impatiently in the back of his throat. Two weeks, two long weeks of imagining this reunion, and he couldn't even hold her. Instead, Elektra was suspended at least two feet off the ground; if she happened to fall, Batista wouldn't be able to catch her this time.

"Baby, what are you doing?" he yelled. He could barely hear his own voice over the clamor in the arena. "Get down before you fall."

Elektra didn't respond; just shook her head vehemently. Batista sighed. He should have known better; Elektra was just as stubborn as he was. But he persisted. "Elektra, _please_." He was practically pleading and hated the sound of it. "All hell's about to break loose, okay? Randy figured out the truth, and thanks to him, Hunter knows, too. And he is _pissed_."

"I know!" Elektra shouted back. "That's why I'm here!"

The Animal tightened his fingers over hers. He wondered what he was going to have to say to get through to her. "Baby, as long as I'm in here, I can't protect you!"

Elektra shook her head again. "I don't care what happens to me!" she replied.

"Well, I do!" Batista shot back, starting to get a little pissed-off himself.

Elektra met his gaze, a look of quiet resolve in her pale eyes. "You can't protect me forever!" she retorted, and her words were enough to shock the Animal into silence. The gray-eyed Diva leaned her forehead against the chain. "Look, I don't care if Hunter comes charging toward me with his sledgehammer, I'm not leaving you! I am _done_ running away from that man. I know…" Her voice faltered for an instant. "I know that you did this to protect me…but I can't let you push me away every time there's a threat. Otherwise, you're going to spend your whole career worrying about me."

Elektra cast her eyes down toward the floor. "I know—better than most people—what Hunter and Randy are capable of. Thanks to them, I've been hit, kicked, powerbombed, Pedigreed, _humiliated_—but despite everything they've done, I've still _survived_. I'm not going to waste my life hiding because of what happened in the past; my future is with _you_. _I love you_, Dave, and when I'm out here at ringside supporting you, I know in my heart that it's where I belong." Her eyes flicked back up to his, and Batista felt a jolt of electricity course through his body. A tiny smile appeared on the silver-eyed Diva's lips. "So, Dave Batista, unless you plan on dragging me out of the arena by my hair, I'm not going anywhere."

Batista glanced down for a second or two, and when he looked back, a similar smile touched his mouth. "You are, without a doubt, the craziest woman that I've ever met." he remarked.

Elektra's smile widened. "Would you still love me if I was any other way?"

Instead of answering, Batista dipped his head down, finding and capturing her mouth through the wide spaces of the chain-link wall. Even with a 10-foot-high barrier separating them, they managed to press close to one another as they kissed, creating an indelible image and reminding everyone present that even in the midst of so much brutality, love could still survive.

* * *

Batista was right to have been wary; Triple H did not remain idle during this exchange. As soon as the Animal was out of the ring, the Game forced himself out of the corner, stumbling toward the limp form of Randy Orton in the center of the canvas. He was still a little unsteady on his feet; despite what the critics of sports entertainment may say, the blood staining his rough-hewn features was his own. The Cerebral Assassin pressed one hand to his forehead, not to staunch the flow of vital fluids, but to quell the throbbing ache of contained emotions threatening to break through his skull.

Triple H ground his teeth together furiously. So that little shit had been right all along: Dave _had_ chosen the whore over Evolution. After everything that he and Ric had done to aid his career, to mold him into a formidable Superstar, the Animal had gone and passed them over for that two-faced sniveling _bitch_.

But what made it worse was the fact that, instead of challenging him outright, Batista had skillfully used the Game's hatred for Elektra to his own advantage. The Cerebral Assassin had never given the Animal much credit in the strategy department; Batista was strictly a ground-and-pound type of guy. But yet, he'd come up with a plan worthy of his mentor, a phony break-up, and had managed to execute it perfectly, knowing exactly which buttons in Triple H's psyche to push.

The Game was supposed to be the master of mind games. _He_ was the button pusher. He should have seen through this charade in an instant…but instead, he'd been suckered in, just like everyone else. Elektra had been a smokescreen, a distraction, meant to keep the Cerebral Assassin's focus off of Batista, thus allowing the Animal to capture the real prize—the World Heavyweight Championship. All this time, Triple H had been mentally congratulating himself, savoring the taste of that imminent victory—and all this time, his only ally had been selfishly planning to take the World title for himself.

Triple H didn't know which thought made him angrier: the fact that he'd been played for a fool by _Dave Batista_, or the thought of enduring the self-satisfied smirk he would almost certainly find on the Legend Killer's face. But the Game was far from admitting defeat. So the Animal thought he was going to walk out of here as World Heavyweight Champion?

Well, he was _dead wrong_.

Steadying himself awkwardly on rubbery legs, the Cerebral Assassin bent down, grabbing Orton by the back of the neck, yanking him up to his knees. As he did so, the Legend Killer's eyes fluttered open and as soon as he saw Triple H standing over him, he grinned. For a moment or two, the Game paused, relishing the thought of wiping away that smug expression by driving his kneecap directly into Orton's face, over and over again until his nose was reduced to a bloody cavity. But, as always, some semblance of common sense prevailed and the Cerebral Assassin leaned in closer, trying to be conspiratorial without actually appearing so.

Orton coughed, but Triple H soon realized that he wasn't clearing his throat; the son of a bitch was _laughing_. "Told…you…so," he gasped out. "Wish…I could have seen…the look…on your face."

"Shut up!" the Game hissed, nailing Orton with a hard slap. "Just shut up and listen to me." He lowered his voice. "Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to hurl your ass into that turnbuckle post, and once you get it together, I want you to take care of the Animal. You hear me? End it _now_."

"Not so fast," Orton's voice had suddenly become a lot stronger and a hell of a lot steelier. "This is gonna cost you, Hunter. I'm not sticking my neck out again unless I get something in return this time."

Triple H's scowl deepened. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exclaimed. "We're in the middle of a goddamn World title match, for Christ's sake!"

"_Exactly_." Orton replied flatly. "If I do this…I want what we agreed on…_Champ_." He deliberately emphasized the last word.

Triple H squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Not the smartest thing to do strategically, but better that than having his skull pop out of his skin. He knew exactly what Orton was implying. The Legend Killer had been inching toward a second one-on-one title match with the Cerebral Assassin since Survivor Series. The Game hated bargaining with Orton again, but the idea of regaining the World Heavyweight Championship _and_ exacting vengeance was just too tempting to pass up.

Besides, when it was over and done, who said that he actually had to carry out his end of the bargain?

Triple H opened his eyes once more, glaring at the Legend Killer. "You _are_ out of your _fucking mind_." he repeated, sighing. "_Fine_. _Whatever_. Just do it. Take him out." His raspy growl of a voice dropped to a whisper. "Take them _both_ out."

The Cerebral Assassin stood, hauling Orton ungraciously up to his feet. With no small sense of satisfaction, he drove his knee into the Legend Killer's midsection, hearing a startled "OOF!" as all the air was driven out of his lungs. Pivoting on one foot, the Game turned and with a final burst of energy, hurled Orton toward the turnbuckle post. Triple H then sank to his knees, exhausted by the effort.

"You brought this on yourself, Dave." he muttered to no one in particular.


	42. Chapter 42: Because Of Her

Chapter 42: Because of Her

If Randy Orton hadn't brought his arms up at the very last second, he would have slammed face-first into the unyielding metal turnbuckle post. Luckily for the Legend Killer, however, his reflexes were still on a hair-trigger; saving him not only from a potential broken nose, but from a possible second concussion. Orton never downplayed the risks he faced stepping into a match, but nonetheless, he still preferred to keep his concussion tally down to one a night.

The Legend Killer waited until his legs regained their steadiness, and then slowly lifted his hands up, gripping the top rope. Grinding his teeth together with the effort, he pulled himself upright, pretending that the pain in his abdomen and ribs simply didn't exist. His body was finally relearning how to breathe, thanks to Triple H's less-than-courteous knee to the gut. But none of that mattered to Randy Orton. He had spent the last few months—no, the last few _years_ proving that if nothing else, he was a survivor. Just like the Energizer Bunny, the Legend Killer kept right on ticking, and right now, even pain, even _oxygen_ was secondary to the burning desire for revenge.

Orton kept his head down, but shot his gaze to the left. Batista had yet to notice his presence; the Animal's attention was still on his bitch of a girlfriend. The Legend Killer couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes in disgust. No wonder the Game wanted to teach Dave a lesson: the guy was too pussy-whipped to even concentrate on the match. Here he was, the most physically imposing Superstar remaining in the Chamber, with a clear advantage, on the verge of capturing the biggest prize in the WWE…and all he wanted to do was make out with that fucking whore.

Still wheezing slightly and with some effort, Orton climbed up to the top rope. In a normal match, the referee would be right at his side, screaming at him to get down. But this was no ordinary match, and tonight, the assigned official was wisely hanging back, watching the events before him with mild interest. As much as Orton disliked Shawn Michaels personally, he had to give the Heartbreak Kid credit in this contest. Shawn had done a fair job so far, and unlike the majority of referees in the WWE, he knew when to keep his nose out of other people's business.

Balancing himself precariously on the top of the turnbuckle, the Legend Killer eyed his target; the enormous dragon tattoo covering Batista's back. A word popped unexpectedly into his brain: _Dragonslayer_. It amused him for some reason, so much so that he allowed a tiny smile to grace his mouth. Not bad. Not as impressive as _Legend Killer_, but the name still had a nice ring to it. Maybe after this match was over, he'd consider adding it to his list of monikers.

Looking up toward the bright lights blazing down upon him; not for any divine assistance, merely to regain his equilibrium, Orton tugged his left elbow pad down to his wrist, leaving the hard joint exposed. Taking a deep breath, he tilted his head back down and abruptly launched himself off the turnbuckle post, angling the left side of his body toward Batista. As he was airborne, hurling toward the unsuspecting pair, he saw them pull apart. Just before he made contact, Elektra's eyes darted up, met his. Her gray irises widened in horror.

But by then, it was too late.

The Legend Killer connected perfectly; his unpadded elbow dug into the Animal's spine, and the force of his body weight drove Batista into the unbending steel chain. But it didn't stop there; the power of the impact traveled through the Animal, slamming into Elektra, tearing her grip loose and knocking her off the side of the Chamber.

Through a dull haze of pain and surprise, Batista saw her fall backward, her limbs moving as though in slow motion. Her arms were outstretched, her hands clawing frantically at handholds fast falling out of her reach. Her beautiful face was contorted with pure terror.

"_Elektra_!" the Animal yelled desperately, trying to shove his hand through the infuriatingly small gaps of the cage, trying to somehow bend the laws of physics to reach out and grab her. But as her name escaped from his lips, she was already too far out of reach, and there was nothing he could do except watch and pray.

Elektra's shoulder blades hit the edge of the security barrier, her head snapping back, arching almost far enough for her skull to connect with the wall's opposite side. For a heartbeat or two, she remained suspended there, splayed across the black security barrier like some exotic butterfly, her long hair brushing the laps of a few lucky souls in the front row. Then, inevitably, gravity kicked in, pulling her toward the floor. She fell to her knees, swaying back and forth for several seconds. Her silver eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing, registering nothing. Her arms were like dead weights at her sides. Her lips parted, but there was no sound. Then, without even attempting to catch herself, she collapsed face down onto the floor.

Batista roared, battering at the Chamber with his fists, shaking the cage wall as though he could tear the links apart with his bare hands. "_Elektra_!" It was no use, the tempered steel refused to budge. Below him, so near yet so far away, lay his beloved Elektra, motionless since hitting the floor.

Batista had forgotten about the match; he didn't even care anymore. The World Heavyweight Championship might have been the richest prize in their business…but not for this. Not at this price. The only thing he wanted was out of this prison. The Animal turned, fully prepared to follow through with his resolution—only to have a speeding fist knock him back against the links of chain. Batista hung onto the wall for support, too dazed to even shake off the effects this time. In front of him, the Legend Killer opened and closed his fist a few times, somehow fully recovered from the near-strangulation he had suffered only minutes ago, wearing that sadistic smile of his. "What's the matter, Dave?" Orton taunted, bringing his face near the Animal's. "You forget how to take a punch?" He shook his head pityingly. "You're an even bigger bitch than your girlfriend." Squeezing his fingers together again, he struck Batista under the chin with a nasty uppercut. The back of the Animal's skull smashed into the cage wall, his teeth clacking together, almost biting off the tip of his tongue. Orton moved back, admiring his handiwork for a moment. Then, suddenly, the smile disappeared and his face contorted with indescribable hatred and rage. Practically snarling, he grabbed Batista by the back of the neck like a dog, running forward and using the momentum to throw the Animal over the ropes and back into the ring.

Still, Batista lay there, almost senseless, the attacks by Orton registering merely as painful stimuli. He couldn't focus, couldn't channel his anger and emotion into physical power as he had in the past. The image of Elektra falling kept replaying in his mind, like a film reel looped back onto itself. He hadn't been able to save her. Inside this Chamber, he could do anything he damn well pleased—but he couldn't save her. And if he couldn't do that, then what was the point of striving for anything else?

Before he could recover, before he could even bring his arms up to defend himself, Orton was back in the ring. The Legend Killer's boot crashed into the Animal's face. Batista's body jerked and twitched as he struggled for breath. A cruel grin worked its way back onto Orton's face, and he brought his boot down a second time, this one evoking a grunt of pain from the Animal. As he lifted his foot up for a third blow, the Legend Killer couldn't resist one last verbal jab: "By the way…when I get out of this cage, I'm gonna fuck your girlfriend until she screams."

His words cut through the Animal's dazed state, jarring him back into awareness. His brown eyes narrowed dangerously. Orton didn't notice, however, and uncompromisingly brought his boot down for a third stomp. Out of nowhere, Batista lifted his arms up, catching the Legend Killer's foot in mid-step with the cold efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Orton's eyes bulged in surprise, and he struggled to tug his boot free, but the effort was useless; the Animal was just too strong. With a growl and a sudden burst of energy, Batista pushed upward, knocking Orton off-balance and over onto his back. The large painful knot on the back of the Legend Killer's skull—the result of Trish's chair shot--connected with the canvas and he yelped with agony, covering his head with both hands, rolling back and forth on the mat.

The Animal ignored him. Fuelled by a fresh surge of adrenaline, he rolled over, pushing himself to his knees. Crawling slowly to the side of the ring, he used the ropes to pull himself to his feet, leaning on them for support. "Fucking piece of shit," he muttered to himself. "Enough is enough." He was going to finish this.

Once and for all.

* * *

When Elektra's spine connected with the rigid edge of the security barrier, she felt as though a huge hand had snatched all of the air from her lungs, but she didn't black out. Instead, she just lay there on the floor, fully conscious but unable to move. Elektra heard the world rushing past her in a commotion of indiscernible sound, feeling like an unwanted occupant in this plane of reality. She could sense the referees at her side, touching her shoulder, trying to determine if she was seriously hurt.

"I'm fine," Elektra attempted to croak, but for some reason, an enormous weight was pressing down on her chest, silencing any endeavors at speech. Scrunching up her face with effort and pain, she planted both palms against the floor, pushing down with all her strength and levering herself up to her knees. Her wrists shook the whole time, threatening to send her right back to the security mat. But Elektra gritted her teeth and persisted, lifting her head up, trying to see through the dark veil of hair covering her eyes.

She finger-combed strands of hair back from her face, and saw, directly ahead of her, the tempered steel side of the Elimination Chamber's base, the dizziness in her brain making its textured surface appear to swirl and swim. Her back was killing her; just the basic movement of crawling sent pain scampering up her arms to congregate at her shoulder blades. Elektra ignored it, reaching out with one trembling hand to touch the metal surface. Her fingers met cool steel. Elektra crawled closer, pressed her cheek against it. The sensation was soothing, but it was also a wake-up call, reminding her that regardless of how she felt, she was still occupying space in this reality.

Her fingertips groped across the base's surface, her nails scratching the rough metal, trying to find a handhold but locating none. Elektra stretched her hand up higher and higher, feeling for a second like she might dislocate it entirely, until finally, her fingers found the top of the base.

She could see black and white stripes on the peripherals of her vision, but Elektra pushed Doan and Chioda from her thoughts. If she acknowledged them, all they would do was make her leave, while she was fighting, fighting with every breath she took to prove that she could stay.

Behind her, fans smacked their hands against the security barrier and stomped their feet, encouraging her to get up. Hanging onto the edge of the base, Elektra squeezed her eyes shut and swung her other arm upward. This time, her fingers latched onto a length of chain link. Grunting with the exertion, the gray-eyed Diva tried to pull herself to her feet; tried to convince herself that this was just a chin-up. But her body refused to comply; her legs in particular were numb and rubbery. Elektra tried again, tears of frustration and effort leaking from the corners of her eyes. But it was no use; she just didn't have the strength anymore.

Suddenly, a new figure appeared at her side; a familiar one with a full head of white hair. Wincing with pain, Elektra turned her head slowly to the side, blinking in surprise. "Ric?" she mumbled, her voice thick and slurred.

Flair's face was expressionless, but he still knelt down beside her, gently taking hold of her elbow. Looking down at the floor for a second or two, he glanced back up, and his features softened. With his free hand, he reached over and patted her cheek affectionately. "Come on," he said finally. "Let's get you back up." He helped her to her feet, supporting her carefully with both hands. "Easy now, that was a nasty spill you just took."

As soon as Elektra was upright, her head swam with dizziness, but she pushed it away to the back of her mind. She could pass out once this match was over; right now, she had to be there for Batista. She had to show him that she was really and truly all right. Her ankles began wobbling uncontrollably and for an instant, she almost lost her balance again. Lurching forward, she grabbed onto the Elimination Chamber wall with both hands. Closing her eyes briefly, she opened them again, pulling her gaze from the floor and up to the scene within the ring.

The Animal was half-slumped over the ropes, one hand pressed to the back of his head. His movements were unsteady, almost lethargic; he appeared as uncertain of his footing as she was. Elektra felt tears sting her eyes, and she slid her hand through one of the wall's wide gaps, stretching it toward him as though she could somehow span the distance between them. As she did, Batista looked up, locking eyes with her. In a flash, the discomfort and the weariness vanished from his face, replaced by relief and a renewed sense of confidence. In spite of the situation that remained to be resolved, Elektra let her face relax into a smile. _I love you…_ she mouthed silently.

The Animal smiled in return. Elektra could feel the warmth of it on her face like sunshine. His lips moved, mouthing a response. Elektra was too far away to make out the words, but she didn't need to read lips to know what he was saying: _I love you, too_. Straightening up, he strode over to the senseless form of Orton, grabbing him and setting him up for the Batista Bomb with deliberate movement. Elektra watched, feeling a twinge of intense satisfaction. "Told you so, you bastard," she whispered in a harsh voice. All it would take was one powerbomb and three seconds to eliminate the Legend Killer not only from the competition, but from her life altogether.

Batista was just about to lock his arms around Orton's waist when, without warning, the Legend Killer dropped to his knees, lacing his fingers together and bringing both fists up between the Animal's legs as hard as he could with a vile low blow. Elektra gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. Batista bent over in pain, his knees beginning to buckle. Orton sprang to his feet with a quickness and energy he should not have possessed. He obviously had been playing possum, using the brief amount of time to regain his strength.

For just a second, just a _heartbeat_, his eyes focused on Elektra and she thought, just for that instant, that she saw him smile. But the silver-eyed Diva didn't have the opportunity to wonder, because in the very next instant, the Legend Killer grabbed Batista around the neck, twisting around, leaping in the air and slamming him into the mat with an RKO.

For Elektra, her brain was too much in shock to record the action as one continuous stream of motion; it registered in her mind merely as a series of still snapshots. The Animal had been in complete control, then suddenly, he was hurling toward the canvas, then finally, Batista lay senseless on the mat, another unfortunate victim of the Legend Killer. Even though it had happened right in front of her, she couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it. It wasn't happening; she was just dreaming, just hallucinating, just _something_.

Elektra's heartbeat ground to a halt. There was a rush of stillness past her ears as thousands of voices faded into silence. Her lifeless heart was in her throat, choking her, blocking off all sounds. The shock was a barrier, shutting her off from reality, freezing her limbs in place. She felt that if she were to fall over, her body would shatter into a thousand pieces, like a delicate figure made of spun glass. For a moment, Elektra almost gave into the paralysis, because denial would be far more comforting than continuing on. But part of her, the part of her that had refused to let her die seven years ago, fought back, beating against the barrier with imaginary fists until it disintegrated.

"_Nooo_!" she screamed, her voice drowning out even the most vocal of wrestling fans. Elektra grabbed the chain-link wall, shook it, beat it with the palms of her hands, but it refused to budge. She was trapped outside, just as the Animal was trapped within.

Inside, Orton dropped down to the canvas, hooking Batista's leg for the pin. In an second, Shawn Michaels was beside him, checking first to make sure that the Animal's shoulders were indeed down, and then bringing his hand to the mat for the three-count.

_Uno…_the arena chanted.

"No…" Elektra whispered to herself, her voice breaking. It couldn't end like this. Not when they were so close. Not after everything they had been through. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Triple H only a few feet away, struggling to his feet and leaning against the ropes for support. His attention, like hers, was glued to the Superstars in the center. But even though he saw that Batista was in trouble, even though the two of them were partners in crime in Evolution, the Game made no attempt to step in and break up the three-count. With a rapidly blossoming sense of incredulity and horror, Elektra realized that he wasn't going to.

_Dos_…

"For God's sake, Hunter, _help him_!" she pleaded, but before she could even finish the sentence, HBK's hand had hit the mat for the third time. Elektra slowly stepped back from the Chamber, shaking her head from side to side slowly, unable to believe what she had just witnessed. "No…" she murmured softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "No…please…he's not…please, _no_."

Lillian Garcia's unusually cheerful voice rang out, brutally reminding Elektra of what she desperately wanted to deny: that Batista had just been officially eliminated from the World Title match. It was as though someone had loaded her with lead weights; Elektra could feel something pulling her body toward the floor. She covered her face with her hands, weeping quietly. Tears squeezed through her fingers, trickling down the backs of her hands.

Because of her, Batista had lost his shot at the World Heavyweight Championship, and quite possibly, his spot in Evolution. He had risked everything for her, but in the end, she had let him down.

Elektra felt someone touch her arm and looked over to see the Nature Boy staring at her sympathetically. However, just beyond the sympathy in his eyes, there was also accusation. Elektra wasn't surprised; she couldn't blame Flair for feeling betrayed. Despite his twisted sense of loyalty toward Triple H, Naitch had always been kind to her, had always looked out for her in his own way. As she stood, gazing wordlessly back at him, she could already sense the distance between them growing. It would be a while before either of them would have to officially pick sides, but unofficially, the battlelines had already been drawn. And in a way, Elektra was saddened, because she knew that Flair had the same fondness for her as she did for him, and didn't want to be her enemy any more than she wanted to be his.

Almost like he was reading her mind, the Nature Boy spoke. "Let's not ruin this with a whole bunch of words," He nodded his head back toward the Elimination Chamber's entrance. "Just go to him."

Elektra stared at him for a long moment, before the thought of finally embracing Batista broke her reverie. She stepped forward, intending to maneuver around Flair, but just as she did, she leaned close, murmuring something that only the two of them could hear. "You know that Dave would have beaten him." There was no need to clarify; they both knew she wasn't referring to Orton. The Nature Boy didn't answered, but he stiffened noticeably.

Elektra didn't stay to gauge his reaction; just moved aside, jogging as quickly as she could to the double doors of the cage. The referees had just removed the padlock and were swinging the doors open. Without waiting for their approval, Elektra pushed past them as well, slipping through the entrance and into the Chamber itself.

She'd never realized just was how big it was. A normal wrestling ring is large enough as it is, especially if you're trapped in a submission hold at its center. But the added footage of the Elimination Chamber extending outside the ring made it that much more imposing, made it seem like a small world onto itself. It was almost like a cage at a zoo. Appropriate, since there were beasts lurking within.

But Elektra didn't have time to philosophize about the Chamber. Her mind was focused on two things: Batista and keeping her stiletto heels from slipping through the cracks of the steel grating. Obviously, Bischoff had not designed the Elimination Chamber with a Diva in mind. After she almost fell for the third time, she stopped, let out an impatient breath, and kneeling down to unfasten them. Leaving them where they were, she traveled the remaining distance in her bare feet.

The Animal had just done what Elektra often jokingly referred to as the "roll of shame", where a Superstar, having just lost a match, must now roll his body to the outside of the ring. He was still coming off of the effects of the RKO. Shawn Michaels was aiding him along as best he could, nudging Batista with his foot while trying to keep his focus on the two remaining participants in the match. Triple H seemed to have found his second or third wind, and had used the fresh burst of strength to hit Orton with a cheap shot to the back of the neck.

Elektra knelt down beside Batista, taking one of his hands and holding it between both of hers. "Dave?" she murmured. "Dave…I'm here."

The Animal slowly opened his eyes, saw her, blinked once or twice. "Elektra?" Tenatively, he reached up, touched her face, cupped her cheek against his palm. This simple human contact seemed to be enough to convince him, and immediately, he sat up, pulling her to him roughly, almost knocking the air out of her again. Elektra slid her arms around him, nestling her face in the crook of his neck. Neither one of them spoke. It would have been a useless endeavor anyway, trying to express in words something which can only be felt, something which has no name.

The entire Chamber shook; Elektra could feel the vibrations beneath her. Either Orton or Triple H must be using the structure as a weapon. Incredible, all Hell was breaking loose around them, and the only thing she and Batista could think about was holding each other. The Animal finally drew back, touching his nose to hers. It was as though he could read her thoughts because the very next words out of his mouth were: "Let's get out of here."

Batista seemed to be recovering quickly; he hardly had to lean on her for support. As soon as they were both standing, Batista took her face in both of his hands, gazing deep into her eyes. Once those rich irises met hers, Elektra felt the tears welling up inside of her again. "Dave, I—" she began, but the Animal cut her off.

"Are you all right?" he asked, forcefully but not without tenderness.

Elektra stared back up at him, feeling hesitant. There was no anger in Batista's eyes, no disapproval. Right now, any blame he might be harboring toward her seemed to be outweighed by his concern. Still, that did nothing to assuage the enormous feeling of guilt within her, the emotion like an anchor wrapped around her neck, dragging her back down into the depths of her own misery. Her presence may not have had the same effect as an elbow to the spine or a low blow, but it had still played a part in Batista's defeat tonight. Just because the Animal wasn't displaying any ire right now didn't mean that he wouldn't unload on her the second they stepped behind the curtain.

And even if he forgave her, it wouldn't really matter because she would never be able to forgive herself.

However, Elektra swallowed her feelings, forced herself back to the present. After thirteen days and one hellish evening, she was back where she belonged: in Batista's arms. There was no way that she was going to let anything, even her own feelings of blameworthiness, take that away from her. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine," she answered. She turned to go. "Come on, let's get out of this hell hole."

Surprisingly, Batista stopped her, grabbing her chin and moving her face back toward his. Glancing up, Elektra saw the first signs of anger in his expression, but it was an anger mixed with concern, and she realized that he had just noticed the bruise on her face. "Baby, how'd you—" His voice trailed off and his gaze traveled downward. He must be looking at the finger marks on her neck; dark smudges marring her skin. The Animal's eyes met hers again, and this time, the anger was bright, like a flame. "Who did this?" he asked, his voice tight with contained rage.

Elektra couldn't answer at first; it wasn't because she didn't want to, but because the fury bristling from Batista had left her momentarily speechless. Batista's hands gripped her shoulders, shook her just a little bit. "_Who did this_?" he reiterated, the control waning from his tone bit by bit.

The gray-eyed Diva glanced toward the ring, shying away from the burning emotion in the Animal's eyes. Inside the ropes, Orton had regained control, standing over the Cerebral Assassin, his hand outstretched in the way that signaled an RKO was not far off. The Legend Killer's wound had been reopened; blood stained the upper half of his face like a mask. His blue eyes flicked up, noticed her.

This time, he _did_ smile.

Elektra felt a searing flash of hatred; one which must have mirrored Batista's. If there was someone more at fault than she was, it was Randy Orton. It had been Orton who humiliated her, Orton who had ruined their plan, Orton who had eliminated Batista from the competition. And now, he was going to conclude his evening of destruction by winning the World Heavyweight Championship.

Elektra felt it boiling inside of her, that pit of blackness that she had spent her career trying to suppress, that dark side of her psyche that was capable of so much annihilation. This time, however, she did nothing to stop it; instead let the emotions flow through her. Whatever abuse the Legend Killer had received in the ring, it was nothing compared to the punishment he actually deserved. He was not going to walk away with the title, not after what he had done to her.

The silver-eyed Diva turned back to Batista. "Orton," she spat, just the sound of his name filling her with distaste. "Orton did this to me."

The Animal's face warped with wrath. "I'll kill him…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

Amazingly, Elektra felt her mouth curve upward in a smile. She didn't know what kind of expression was on her face, and certainly didn't want to hazard a guess. All she knew was that this particular combination of hatred and love was giving her the most incredible high.

Batista turned toward the ropes, struggling to get in. The Heartbreak Kid blocked his path, pushing the Animal back with both arms. "Come on, man," the special guest referee warned. "You've been eliminated; you know I can't let you back in."

"Get out of the way, Shawn," the Animal replied in a low tense voice.

HBK shook his head, still keeping Batista back. Elektra didn't envy his position: attempting to referee a match while restraining a very irate Animal. In the ring, Orton had just hit the RKO, this one even more thunderous than the last. The entire arena leapt to their feet. The Legend Killer collapsed to the mat, hooking Triple H's leg for the pin cover.

Michaels turned back toward the participants, on the brink of running over and making the count when a new figure dashed into the Chamber.

Flair.

The Nature Boy grabbed hold of the ropes, shaking them and screaming his head off about God only knew. The Heartbreak Kid glanced from him back to Batista, and made a split-second decision. The Animal, that was one thing, but Flair…Flair wasn't even in the damn match. The guest referee rushed over, sparking off a shouting match between the two veterans. Naitch tried to enter the ring, but was knocked down by a solid right-hand punch, courtesy of HBK. As he had proved earlier with Edge, Michaels was not afraid to resort to physicality should the need arise.

As soon as the referee's attention was diverted, Batista saw his opportunity, and maneuvered deftly between the ropes. Orton had gotten to his feet, obviously irritated both at Flair and HBK. It turned out to be a mistake; the Animal hit him with a clothesline that turned the Legend Killer inside out. He actually turned a full revolution in the air, landing ungraciously face-down. Batista didn't stick around to admire his handiwork, but exited through the ropes on the opposite side.

Elektra stared at the motionless form of Randy Orton for a second or two. Funny, when he was lying there like that, he looked harmless, pitiable even. One would never guess the torment he had caused her, the violence and malice he was capable of. And it would never stop, not really. This hatred between her and the Legend Killer, much like the rivalry between Triple H and Shawn Michaels, was going to continue for the rest of their careers, possibly the rest of their lives. Like all true rivalries, it would go through its phases, its ebbs and flows. But unlike she had in the past, Elektra felt no fear this time, only a sense of calm resignation, of inevitability. If Orton decided to come after her again, she would be waiting.

Only this time, she wouldn't be waiting alone.

Squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin up, Elektra cast one final look at Orton. Her face held no expression. "See you around." she muttered, and with that, she physically and mentally turned her back on the Legend Killer.

Batista was at Flair's side, helping the older man back to his feet. Elektra hurried over, taking the Nature Boy's other arm.

"Let go of me, dammit!" Flair barked. "I can do it on my own!"

Elektra smiled without thinking about it. _Typical Ric…_she thought wryly to herself.

Shawn Michaels, in the meanwhile, was leaning over the top rope, glaring at them and pointing toward the Chamber's double doors. "All of you, _out_!" he commanded. He shot a look at Elektra. "That goes for you, too!"

Elektra felt Batista take her hand; she gripped his in return. They walked out of the Elimination Chamber and down the stairs, both of them feigning a reluctance to leave that they did not feel. They halted at the beginning of the walkway, staring back at the Chamber. Fans on either side were booing the Animal for his actions, but he and Elektra both ignored them.

The gray-eyed Diva inclined her head slightly toward Batista. "So…what happens now?" she asked, feeling like a complete moron for doing so.

The Animal shook his head. "I don't have a clue."

Inside the Chamber, Triple H managed to set Orton up for the Pedigree. Wrenching the Legend Killer's arms behind his back, he dropped to his knees, plowing him face-first into the mat. The Heartbreak Kid checked his shoulders, then slammed his hand to the canvas. 1…2…3. In just three seconds, the Game had become the World Heavyweight Champion for the tenth time.

Batista immediately raised both fists in the air, pretending to be elated, pretending that the clothesline he had delivered to Orton had been for the good of Evolution, not for himself. But inside, he couldn't repress a twinge of disappointment. Tonight was supposed to be _his_ night, the night he proved he was more than just muscle. He had overcome all these obstacles, had put both himself and Elektra through tons of crap…and in the end, he had come up short. In the end, he had done exactly what he had tried so hard _not_ to do—put the World Title back in the Cerebral Assassin's possession.

Then he glanced over at Elektra, and just like that, the regret melted away. He may not be World Champion tonight, but he still had her, and to Batista, _that_ was what mattered. All the title belts in the WWE couldn't take the place of the feeling he got just holding her in his arms, the spark of electricity he felt looking into her eyes. He wished that he could somehow find the eloquence to say what he was feeling, to tell her just how much she meant to him at this very moment.

But he couldn't. The second he opened his mouth, his tongue seemed to tie itself in knots. Instead, he stood there, feeling like an idiot, while Elektra gazed back at him expectantly. After several long awkward seconds, the Animal cleared his throat. "Come on," he managed to say. "Let's go pretend to be happy for him." He let go of her hand and jogged up the steps before he could make a bigger fool out of himself.

"Dave, wait—" Elektra called after him, but he was already out of earshot. The gray-eyed Diva glanced at the ground, blinking back tears. "That should have been you in there." she finished, her voice cracking.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed the steel steps after him to join Evolution's victory party.


	43. Chapter 43: Ultimatums and Power Games

Chapter 43: Ultimatums and Power Games

"Triple H!" Todd Grisham was right at the Game's side almost immediately after the three members of Evolution (four, if you counted Elektra) made it backstage. Raw's chief backstage reporter held his microphone out in front of him, wearing a familiar expression of nervous anticipation, as though he expected to be hit at any moment. "Triple H! Can I get your thoughts now that you're the new World Heavyweight Champion?" Grisham waited for a response, timidly pushing his wire-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

The Cerebral Assassin was leaning heavily on Batista for support, with Flair at his other elbow, lest he suddenly topple over in the opposite direction. His crudely handsome face was smeared with blood. However, despite his fatigue, Triple H still hung onto his World Title belt with a death grip, the bones of his knuckles outlined through the skin. It had not escaped Elektra's notice that he had looked at that piece of gold and leather with far more tenderness than he had ever shown her.

The Game came to an unsteady halt, swaying back and forth on rubbery legs. But there was no weakness in the glare he fixed on Grisham, one that made the backstage reporter wonder (quite seriously) if the new World Champion had one more Pedigree left in him.

"My thoughts?" Triple H repeated, with no small amount of derision. "My thoughts are that I went out there tonight, went up against five of the best Superstars on Raw, and did _exactly_ what I said I would do. And because of that, I am now the World Heavyweight Champion for the _tenth time_."

Elektra felt a wave of annoyance sweep across her body, and it was a struggle to keep it from showing on her face. _You mean, with the help of Batista_…she thought angrily, pressing a tiny bit closer to the Animal.

Almost like he was on the receiving end of her thoughts, Triple H turned his head slightly toward her, catching her eye. His mouth twitched with a half-smile, as though the idea of her frustration amused him. Most likely it did. Then, as she watched, her body trembling with unreleased emotion, he winked. The son of a bitch actually _winked_ at her.

Elektra felt another flash of fury and guilt, and in the back of her throat, the annoying tickle of unshed tears. She knew then that she had to get out of there. If she stayed here, she was going to start sobbing. And she would be damned if she would give the Cerebral Assassin the supreme satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Letting go of Batista's hand, she backed away from the small group, casting her gray eyes toward the floor. "Excuse me," she muttered quietly, her voice tight. With controlled yet rapid paces, she turned and strode down the hall before anyone had a chance to stop her, not even glancing back to take note of their reactions.

It wasn't until she turned the first corner that she realized she didn't know where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. All she really knew was that she had to put distance, not just between herself and the Game, but between herself and Batista. The longer she stood by Triple H, the greater the chances were that she would do something she would _really _regret. And as much as she had missed the Animal, just standing next to him filled her mouth with bitterness, the knowledge that she had cost him the World Title a constant sting that showed no signs of healing. The way he had looked at her out there…he had wanted to say something, she could sense it. But then he had walked away, and she knew that words of blame had been poised on his lips, words that his head would never permit him to say, but that his heart was shouting.

And she couldn't bear seeing that look of disappointment in his eyes again.

The silver-eyed Diva finally stopped, panting for breath. Her body had used up its last ounce of adrenaline and was now running on empty. It wouldn't be long before exhaustion would kick in and shut everything down. Already, there was a low but persistent hum in her ears, and she was starting to feel light-headed. Practically reeling, she moved sluggishly to the nearest door, pressing her forehead to its wooden surface. For a couple seconds, she felt her legs wobble, almost give out on her entirely. But then she looked up, and the sight that met her eyes was enough to make her momentarily forget her weariness; was enough to evoke a sardonic laugh.

There was an emblem on the door, a very familiar one that had dictated the whims of her heart for the first ten months of her WWE career. Of all the doors and all the spaces in this arena, she had managed to stop right in front of Evolution's locker room.

Another laugh burst from her, but it was choked, more of a suppressed sob than anything else. She couldn't help but remember Orton and how he'd always raved on and on about destiny. Maybe, just possibly, there was some validity to his claims. No matter how many times she tried to step away from the faction, there was always been some invisible force that kept pulling her back, the way that water is pulled into a curve before it swirls down the drain. Somehow, Evolution's destiny had become inexplicably entwined with hers, its survival hinged precariously on her own.

With a trembling hand, Elektra reached up, touching the door lightly with her fingertips, then resting her whole hand against it. She pushed, and it opened easily. Already, tendrils of familiarity were slithering out from within the room, coiling themselves around her wrists and ankles, tugging her gently but insistently inside. Elektra let them.

After all, one never really could escape their destiny.

The room itself was unchanged; it was as though she had never left. The space was equipped with the standard furnishings of a locker room: shelves, benches. But there were also the more luxuriant accoutrements that separated it from the domain of a lower-ranking Superstar: an inviting leather couch, two large easy chairs, several plants.

Elektra focused her gaze on the couch. She kept telling herself that if she could just make it there, if she could just convince the few remaining molecules of energy in her body to cross those last couple of feet, she could finally release this emotion threatening to destroy her from within. The thought pounded in her head over and over, like a wordless mantra.

Almost a year ago, Batista had laid her down on a sofa not unlike this one, in an arena now hundreds of miles away. On that night, he had first made her aware that while Triple H might have claim over her body, only the Animal had dominion over her heart. They had both known from that moment on that they were meant for each other, though unaware of what they would have to go through to _be _together. And to think that it would come to this; that they would manage to prove Triple H _right_; that _she_ would be the factor that would keep him from obtaining the World Heavyweight Championship…the idea was almost too painful to consider.

She got within two feet of the couch before her legs buckled and gave out altogether. Elektra collapsed awkwardly to the ground, scraping her knees against the concrete floor. A stifled cry of pain escaped her mouth, threatening to make the tears flooding her eyes trickle down her cheeks. Her legs were splayed out awkwardly on either side of her, and the only way she was keeping herself in a semi-upright position was by leaning forward and propping herself up with both arms. The floor swam in and out of focus, stray tears staining its surface with dark gray splotches. Elektra tried to push herself back up, but it was no use; she simply didn't have the strength anymore. Her wrists shook, her elbows folded inward, the world around her began to go dim—and then she felt the strong arm across her chest, holding her up, pulling her back.

Elektra turned the upper half of her body around, burying her face in Batista's shoulder, looping her arms around his neck. Without saying a word, the Animal enfolded her in his embrace, lifting her up as he stood and carrying her over to the couch. Carefully, he set her down on one end, propping her up, before taking a seat next to her, draping his arm across the back.

The silver-eyed Diva smiled weakly. "I remember this." she whispered.

Again, Batista didn't reply, but instead reached over, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin.

For some reason, the tender gesture struck her more profoundly than any reproachful word or look, and Elektra began to weep. Not the brief spurts of emotion that she had been exhibiting all evening, but that deep cathartic cry which had been building up inside of her for two weeks. Her entire body shook with the effort and pain flared over her bruised face, but the last thing she could do was stop. She couldn't even lift up her hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks. The world became an Impressionist painting; smears of color and light, as she sobbed, the misery and anguish pouring out of her. When the gray-eyed Diva finally regained enough composure to be able to speak, her words came out as short gasps of breath and sound. "I'm sorry!" she cried, her voice almost incomprehensible. "I'm so sorry! I was so stupid! It's all my fault—"

Batista grabbed her shoulders before she could finish, pulling her to him, holding her close against his chest. "Don't say that," he interrupted, his own voice rough with feeling. "Don't ever say that. You didn't do anything; what do you have to be sorry about?"

"You know what." Elektra replied, her voice muffled. "If it hadn't been for me, you would have walked out of there World Heavyweight Champion. I thought I was _helping_ you, but instead, I cost you the title. If you hadn't been thinking about me—"

"Orton probably still would have needed to use a low blow to pin me." Batista interjected. "That's the kind of game that asshole plays."

"That's not the point," Elektra protested. She pulled back, disentangling herself from his arms. "I took your mind off the match, and look what happened. And when I saw the look on your face afterward, I knew that—" Her voice faltered, and her pale eyes filled with fresh tears. "That you must hate me for what I've done."

The Animal stared at her for a second or two, dumbstruck. "Is—is that really what you think?" he asked slowly, his voice incredulous. Elektra didn't answer, but ducked her head down, her dark hair covering her face. Batista took her chin in his hand, tilting her head up. "Look at me," he commanded gently. Elektra lifted her silvery gaze to meet his, apprehension written across her features. The Animal took her face in both hands, pushing back her hair. "Don't you _ever_ think that, all right? _I'm_ the one who lost the match, not you. You've got nothing to feel guilty about, do you hear me? _Nothing_."

"But the look on your face—" Elektra cut in.

Batista pressed his fingertips to her lips before she could complete the thought. "Would you let me finish?" he asked, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. Just as quickly though, his expression turned serious again. "Listen to me, baby. You were right, _I _was wrong. This whole…plan…of mine, it was stupid. Yeah, I could have won the title, but I could have lost you in the process. And just imagining that…it's worse than any blow I took out in that ring."

He hesitated for a moment, emotion beginning to overtake him. The Animal was a man of few words; right now was the exception, not the rule. And right now was so much harder, because he was struggling to put into words something that can only be felt with the heart. "When I looked at you out there, I realized just how lucky I am, because I have you. When you're with me, I'm _more_ than just the Animal; I'm _more _than just Triple H's stooge. I'm _somebody_, and I'm somebody because of you. I may not be Champion, but it doesn't matter because with you, I feel like I already am. You will _always_ be more important to me than any title belt. I guess—" He wavered for an instant or two, and when he spoke again, his voice had taken on that hoarse rasp of emotion. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…I love you, baby."

Elektra couldn't speak; she was literally too choked for words. Tears kissed her lower lashes, on the verge of streaming down her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she tried valiantly to form coherent sounds. She looked into Batista's eyes, and saw that there were tears glistening in his as well. Wordlessly, he put both hands on her waist, pulling her up onto his lap. Elektra carefully straddled his legs with her own, pressing both hands to his chest. The Animal leaned into her, his forehead touching hers, one hand sliding back to rest on the small of her back, the other touching her cheek, her hair. Elektra heard a soft sound, almost like a moan of contentment, escape from his throat. "God, I missed you." he murmured.

Already, Elektra could feel her guilt and anxiety melting away. It didn't matter what happened after this, so long as she was safe in Batista's embrace. Very hesitantly, as though she feared this moment, too, would be stolen from her, she reached up and held his face in both of her hands. "I missed you so much," she whispered, the tears starting to fall. "I missed you…and I love you, and—"

Before she could continue any further, Batista silenced her with his mouth. The kiss was soft, sensual, erasing all other thoughts from her mind. When he pulled back, she found herself trying to catch her breath. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his lips. "Dave…" she managed to say. "Don't stop…"

That was all the encouragement Batista needed. He dipped his head down, his mouth colliding with hers, his kisses hard, raw. His tongue slid into her mouth, caressing her own, allowing her to taste him. Elektra eased forward, molding her body against his. She was wet, ready for him, and aching for him to take her. Batista must have had the same idea because he began pushing her gently down into a reclining position. Elektra let him, wrapping one leg around his body to pull him even closer against her.

They were laying on the couch now, the Animal's body covering her own. Elektra ran her hands slowly down his back, moaning softly. Everything about him was so solid, so powerful. The other Divas may have been disdainful and a little afraid, but not her. With Batista, there was only love and tenderness, and besides, this primal side of him, this animalistic nature which everyone else feared—it only turned her on.

She heard Batista groan, a low sound of need. With soft kisses, he moved down to her neck, nipping at her skin. His hand trailed teasingly up her leg, his fingers grazing her inner thigh. Elektra could feel the desire building within her, a dull aching knot that throbbed inside her with every kiss, every brush of skin on skin. Batista shifted a little, nestling his body more firmly against hers. The small movement pressed him against her, causing her to cry out, threatening to make her melt. The Animal found the edge of her halter top, slowing tugging it upward. Elektra stretched her arms up over her head as he stripped her shirt off, tossing it aside. Kissing her hard on the mouth once more, he sat up abruptly, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her up to straddle his lap again. Elektra let her body arch backward, allowing it to meet his bit by bit. She felt him cover her breasts with kisses, then slowly work his way upward, kissing her collarbone, her shoulder, the line of her throat. He placed gentle kisses along her jawline, then covered her mouth with his again, growling with impatience. Elektra wrapped her arms around his neck, and Batista nearly crushed her as he pulled her to him, his fingers actually digging into her bare back.

The gray-eyed Diva turned her head to the side, allowing the Animal's lips to slide along her cheek, her ear, then back down to her neck.. She moaned as he pushed against her again. "I want you…" she whispered, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns across the nape of his neck.

Her eyes had drifted closed; she opened them again…and almost died from shock.

Triple H stood only a few feet away, the World Heavyweight Championship on his shoulder. Elektra had never even heard the door open. The Game was obviously fresh from the trainer's; the blood had been washed from his face, replaced by a bandage and a bemused smirk. The halter top dangled from one hand.

Elektra gasped, pushing herself back from Batista, throwing both arms over her body to cover herself. She twisted around to face the back of the couch, her face burning with humiliation.

The startled Animal glanced over, actually jumping a bit himself at seeing the Cerebral Assassin. Unlike Elektra, however, there was no embarrassment, no shame in his face. The shock itself only lasted a few more moments; Batista's expression soon hardened, closing down and becoming something unreadable.

"Please, don't stop on _my_ account," the Game drawled. Just the smarmy tone in his voice was enough to make Elektra's skin crawl. Neither she nor the Animal responded, but she eventually turned her head around, fixing Triple H with a glare.

The now-ten-time World Champion raised one eyebrow innocently, glancing down at the garment in his hand as if noticing it for the first time. "Oh…is this _yours_?" he remarked casually.

Elektra didn't move; unwilling to uncross her arms and reach out for her shirt. It would have been humiliating to let the Cerebral Assassin see her cry. It would be even more so to allow him to catch even a single glimpse of her bare body; something which up until a few months ago he had considered his sole property. Well, it wasn't his anymore.

As though he was on the same wavelength, the Animal stretched out his arm, his palm turned upward. The Game's eyes flicked back and forth between them, as he savored this feeling of power, however brief it might be. Finally, after several deliberate seconds, he tossed the shirt to Batista, who caught it easily and in turn passed it to Elektra. The silver-eyed Diva kept her back turned as she redressed herself. The surprise had dissipated; only anger remained. She wasn't quite furious yet, but if the throbbing in her temple was any indication, she was pretty close.

"Why so shy all of a sudden, babe?" Triple H added, his tone mocking. "You didn't seem to care who saw when you were macking on Dave just now. Besides…" He paused, a sure sign that he was about to push the blade in just a little bit deeper. "It's not like you're covering anything I haven't seen before."

Elektra felt Batista start to rise, and grabbed his arm before he could complete the motion. The Cerebral Assassin delighted in seeing just how far he could push the Animal, even more so now that he was with Elektra. More and more lately, though, it seemed like he was trying to deliberately goad Batista into a fight. Elektra knew what he was doing: attempting to show that the Animal couldn't keep his temper in check, that he lacked the rationality to be Champion. If Batista couldn't even keep his cool during a mere exchange of words, how could he ever stay focused during a title match? Pummeling the Game, as well-deserved as it might be, would only prove that he was stronger, not that he was better.

The Animal seemed to realize this, because his body relaxed and he sat back down. Checking to make sure that everything was covered adequately, Elektra rotated her entire body back around, maneuvering deftly into a sitting position. Inching closer until her side pressed against the Animal's, she put both feet on the floor, subtly crossing one leg over the other. She reached over, found Batista's hand, gripped it, feeling the Animal lace his fingers through hers. Tilting her chin up, she focused her gaze on the form of the new World Heavyweight Champion.

As she'd expected, she had received no shows of respect from Triple H. He was still staring at her, the expression on his face only a few degrees down from a blatant leer. Elektra kept her eyes on the lower half of his face, reluctant to meet his eyes directly. Despite the emotion burning in her veins, doubts still lingered within her; the worry that if she locked gazes with the Cerebral Assassin, the fear would return.

But then her own ultimatum came back to her, words that she had uttered to Trish less than an hour ago: _It'll never stop…unless I make it stop_. Fuelled by that, she looked up, directly into the Game's eyes. Whatever Triple H saw in her face as she did so, it made him falter. It was just for an instant, and it was all in his eyes, but nonetheless, Elektra knew that she had thrown him slightly off-balance.

However, the Cerebral Assassin recovered just as quickly, the tiny window into his inner thoughts slamming shut with a nearly audible bang. He looked from Elektra to Batista, his arrogant smile curling downwards into a frown.

"Both of you listen to me, and listen good," he growled. "I don't know what the _hell_ happened out there tonight, and quite frankly, I really don't want to. All I can say is: I hope you're proud of yourselves." He stopped, fixing each of them with an icy glare. "Thanks to the two of you, I looked like an idiot out there. You made _me_, you made _Evolution _look _ridiculous_." The Game stared hard at Elektra, his gaze threatening to burn a hole right through her body. "Because of you, babe—"

"_Elektra_!" the gray-eyed Diva spat.

"_Whatever_!" Triple H shot back, his voice filled with vitriol. He took a step towards the couple. "You think this is all fun and games, princess? Because of _your_ little shenanigans, that bastard Orton almost walked off with _my_ World Heavyweight Title."

Elektra stared back at the Cerebral Assassin for a second or two, her upper lip curling slightly in disgust. Her next words were as cold and piercing as shards of ice. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

Her terse statement, uttered with so little emotion, was enough to snap the fragile tether of the Game's self-control. Hatred flickered, unbridled, across his features, and he advanced toward the silver-eyed Diva on the sofa. "You stupid little—"

"Hey!" Just as swiftly, Batista was off the couch, placing his muscular frame between Elektra and Triple H. "_Back off_, Hunter." he ordered. The Animal was practically nose-to-nose with the Cerebral Assassin, eying him with absolutely no trepidation or fear. "It was _my_ idea, all right? I made her do it."

"Oh, _really_?" The sarcasm dripped from Triple H's voice like syrup. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And just _what_, exactly, were you trying to prove, huh?"

Batista's expression didn't change, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of menace in his tone. "It's like what you and Ric always told me—do whatever you have to to win."

The Game's scowl remained in place. "So let me get this straight—and _please_, tell me if I've missed anything: You decide to give yourself an advantage and protect your _girlfriend_ all at the same time. So you stage a break-up; you make everyone believe that you're no longer an item, all so they won't have to target her to beat you. How very _noble_ of you, Dave." His frown deepened even more. "Never mind the fact that in the process, you lie to me, you lie to Naitch…you lie to the people who brought you to the dance, who made you _who you are_."

Almost as though on cue, Flair stepped through the door. His normally tanned face was even ruddier with elation, but his smile soon faded as he sensed the overwhelming tension filling the room. Wisely, the Nature Boy stayed where he was, just a few feet behind Triple H, ready to step in should trouble arise. And from the sound of things, it was definitely on the horizon.

"What's your point, Hunter?" Batista interrupted, his voice harsh. He and the Cerebral Assassin were still staring each other down like a pair of gunslingers.

Triple H raised an eyebrow. "_My_ point?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "I should be asking _you_ the same question. See, this is _exactly_ why I keep telling you to stick with what you know. Every time you start _thinking_, it just leads to trouble." He continued on before the Animal could argue. "My _point_ is that _your_ little stunt put _Evolution_ in danger. We're supposed to go out there as a team, as a _unit_, with _one_ goal in mind: to bring back the World Heavyweight Championship. But instead, Dave, you went out there for _yourself_. You decided to be selfish, and look what happened. Orton made you look like an _idiot_ out there." The Game lowered his voice. "And in the end, what was it all for? Oh, yeah, that's right, to keep your girlfriend from getting smacked around; something which—by the way—she desperately needs."

Batista's jaw clenched, and before anyone could move to stop him, his hands shot out, catching the World Champion on the shoulders, shoving him backward. The Cerebral Assassin stumbled, almost losing his footing altogether. The Animal pointed at him, his stoic expression replaced by one of rage. "You _shut_ your _fucking_ mouth." he commanded through gritted teeth.

The Game stared back at him in disbelief, unwilling to accept the fact that he had just pushed Batista into a physical confrontation. However, he quickly shook it off, and lunged toward the Animal. If it hadn't been for the intervention of Flair and Elektra, the two men would have come to blows. The Nature Boy threw his arm around Triple H's shoulders, the motion half-friendly, half-restraining. He gestured with his other hand, the whole time talking wildly in that placating twang of his, saying anything that might calm the enraged Champion.

Elektra pressed both hands against the Animal's chest, looking up into his face. She knew that she was the last person in this room who could physically restrain Batista. Her only hope was to make him look past the glowering countenance of the Game and the red mist clouding his eyes, and see her. "Don't do it, Dave," she pleaded. "_Please_. Don't you see that he _wants_ you to get mad?" Batista didn't seem to hear her; his eyes were still fixed on the Cerebral Assassin. Elektra reached up, grazing his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Don't do this. Don't play his game." she whispered.

Slowly, as though hearing her voice through a fog, the Animal looked down and met her eyes. His expression softened.

Unfortunately, this momentary break in tension did little to ease Triple H; in fact, it seemed to infuriate him even more. "See what I mean?" he snarled. "Open your fucking eyes; she's never going be anything except a distraction! You really think that Orton would have been able to take _you_ down if your mind hadn't been so wrapped around her? So do us _all_ a favor, Dave, and dump her ass before you become _really _pathetic!"

If one look from Elektra was enough to lull Batista back into a kind of peace, these harsh comments from the Game were enough to force his fury back over the boiling point. He lunged forward, pushing Elektra aside, but before he could even bring his fist up to throw a punch, the silver-eyed Diva forced herself back in between the two Superstars. Putting one hand on Batista's chest, she pivoted and pushed the heel of the other against the Cerebral Assassin's. Just this small physical contact with the man who had terrorized her for the better part of a year made her sick to her stomach, but she merely swallowed, and dug her bare feet into the floor. "Stop it, both of you!" she commanded.

Her directive stunned both men into silence; even Flair seemed to be lost for words. Elektra glanced back and forth between Triple H and Batista. "This is all my fault," she murmured, more to herself than to either of them. She turned her head, focusing her pale irises on the Game. "That's what you want me to say, isn't it? That it's my fault? That I fucked up?" Her voice, so beseeching a few moments ago, had suddenly become steely. "All right, I fucked up. _I fucked up_. But I'll be _damned_ if I'm going to let you turn me or Dave into your scapegoat."

Lowering her hands back down to her sides, she swung her body around to fully face the Cerebral Assassin. "I know that you hate me. I know that you'd love to get rid of me. But like you told me a long time ago—this is _Evolution_. We are _the_ most dominant force in this industry, and in order to stay that way, we all have to play nice with one another. Like it or not, Hunter; as long as I'm with Dave, I'm still a part of Evolution, and that's something that you're just going to have to accept."

Elektra's voice softened, but even the change in volume couldn't mask the venom oozing out of her words. "Dave did what he felt he had to to protect me. I know that's something you can't understand, but don't you _dare_ call him pathetic. He _saved your ass_ out there. If he hadn't stepped in, Orton would have walked out as the Champion, and you _know_ it." The gray-eyed Diva stopped, her final utterance still reverberating in her ears.

For several long moments, no one said anything. No one moved. It was as though the four of them were frozen in this tableau, forever perched on this moment of tension and indecision. Flair was the one to break it, clearing his throat meaningfully. "I hate to say this, Champ, but she's got a point—"

"Shut it, Ric!" the Game snapped, not taking his eyes off the Diva in front of him. The waves of hatred emanating from him were so palpable, she could feel them pressing against her skin. She could see the indecision in his gaze, the struggle to find some middle ground between common sense and the source of his loathing. When he did speak, his voice was surprisingly calm, but chilling right down to its core: "But he's right. As much as I don't like admitting it, you actually _do_ have a point."

His eyes finally looked past her, locked onto the Animal. "You _did_ save my ass out there. You could have turned on me—for a second, I really thought that you _were_—but when it came time to make a decision, you stuck by Evolution. Thanks to you—" The Cerebral Assassin stopped, practically grimacing as he grudgingly spoke the next words. "Thanks to you, I'm now World Heavyweight Champion for the _tenth time_."

Abruptly, his expression warped, becoming one of hatred and ire. "But I don't _appreciate _being lied to. You were supposed to have my back out there; instead you were fucking with my mind, and it almost cost me the match. After all that I've done for you, to choose that—" Triple H stopped, but his lips were still pressed together, ready to vocalize that initial "b" sound. Batista raised one eyebrow, as though daring him to say it, daring him to cross that fine line. "For her." the Game finished, albeit a few seconds too late.

He stepped forward, and Elektra unconsciously moved back, her shoulder blades bumping against the Animal's chest. She felt trapped, and knew that if they were to exchange blows now, there was no way she could avoid being caught in the crossfire.

"So now it's time to make a choice, Dave," the Cerebral Assassin continued, his voice now tightly controlled. "It's time to show where you _really_ stand. I've gone along with this bullshit for long enough. It was all right in the beginning, but now it's getting ridiculous. The longer you stay with her, Dave, the more she's going to hold you back. You may be willing to let yourself get dragged down, but I'm not letting you take Evolution down with you. It's time to choose: us…or her."

The silence that followed was deafening. Elektra wasn't even aware that she had been holding her breath until she felt her chest begin to clench. Her heart was beating, faster and faster, until it filled her ears with its ceaseless pounding. The cold seeping into her body was overwhelming. She desperately wanted Batista to wrap his arms around her, to shield her with his warmth. But he didn't, and she knew that he couldn't. Whatever he did in the next few seconds would determine everything.

The Animal's voice was low, emotionless, yet every one of his words was potent with meaning: "I'll think about it."

Triple H's eyes widened, and his mouth curved downward in disapproval. "You'll _think_ about it?" he repeated disbelievingly. "This isn't an essay question, Dave; I want an answer _right now_—"

"I _said_," Batista's voice now held a slightly different quality this time; that subtle change in tone which indicated that a show of violence could soon follow. Bringing his arm up, he rested his hand on Elektra's shoulder. The silver-eyed Diva didn't stir an inch, but the ball of apprehension weighing in her stomach dissipated. "I'll _think_ about it." the Animal finished. His hand slid lightly down Elektra's arm, found her hand, took it. "But right now, I'm going to the trainer's…and I'm taking her with me."

Several tense seconds passed in which the Game didn't say anything. Instead, he glared at Batista, his whole face quivering with unreleased emotions. The rage was building up inside him moment by moment, yet he still hovered on the edge of release, unwilling to risk the consequences of unloading his fury on the Animal. After what seemed like forever, he stepped to the side. It wasn't much—a few inches at most—but it was the greatest distance that the Cerebral Assassin would ever be willing to budge.

Batista carefully maneuvered around him, keeping his body between Triple H and Elektra the whole time. When he reached the door, he found the Nature Boy blocking his path, staring at him emotionlessly. For a long moment, the two Evolution members stood there, measuring each other up, before Flair eventually moved aside, motioning toward the door. The Animal stepped past him, pushing it open and heading out into the hallway with Elektra in tow. Flair followed them, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The three of them—two Superstars, one Diva—walked down the corridor, surrounded by a lull that was fraught with unspoken tension. They had gotten about fifty yards away when Flair exploded. After so many months of trying to be the peacekeeper, it seemed that the Nature Boy had finally reached his breaking point.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he demanded, grabbing Batista's arm and pulling him forcibly around, causing all of them to come to a stop. "Huh? What the hell were you thinking?"

The Animal jerked his arm free. "Don't you start with me, Ric." he interrupted, his voice filled with weariness and irritation. "I'm telling you, man, let it go."

Flair, however, was far from letting it go. "Hunter's right: we're a _team_. What you do out there, it doesn't just affect you. It affects _all_ of us. When Orton makes you look like a _jackass_, it's a reflection on Evolution."

"Ric—" Now Batista's tone held the first subtle note of warning.

Flair didn't care; after more than thirty years in the business, he had come to regard even the Animal's explosive temper with only mild consternation. Nor did Batista's size and weight advantage make a difference; neither of these were intimidation factors for the legendary Nature Boy. "Now Elektra—don't get me wrong; she's a swell kid—but to think that you put us in danger because of her…" Flair shook his head admonishingly. "I'm starting to think she _is_ a distraction."

Batista's face twitched, flickered with rage. "You leave her out of this." he ordered in a low rumbling voice.

The Nature Boy looked up at him without fear. "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you, Dave." he replied, his voice just as terse and clipped.

That did it. The fire blazed in the Animal's eyes, he began to move—and once again, Elektra was between them, using her body as a barrier. "Enough!" she commanded. Both men immediately stepped back. Elektra looked from one to the other, before turning her attention to Flair. "I'm getting just a little bit tired of listening to people talk about me like I'm not here! You think this whole situation is my fault? Well, fine, then I'll fix it." The Nature Boy, stoic in the midst of Batista, flinched under her scrutiny. Elektra, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, her eyes as hard as the steel surrounding the ring. She paused for a moment or two. "I'm going back there and talking to him."

"_What_?" Batista and Flair's reactions were simultaneous and identical. It would have been comical…if it hadn't been so deadly serious.

Flair, naturally, was the first one to sputter out a sentence. "Are-are you _nuts_? The moment you set foot in that room, Hunter's gonna tear you to pieces!"

"No, he won't." Elektra shook her head, her demeanor eerily calm. "You remember what happened last time. If Hunter puts even a finger on me, he's toast."

Now the Nature Boy was the one to shake his head in the negative. "No, no…not until I talk him down first. Right now, he's all riled up; there's no telling what he's going to do if he sees you." He glanced down the hallway toward the room in question, still talking half-under his breath. "He just went through a helluva match out there; he's probably not even in his right mind."

"Ric," Elektra's voice was still perfectly even. "You think that in sharing a room with Triple H for ten months, I never once had to calm him down? To talk him out of doing something stupid? Trust me…I know what I'm doing." She stared at the Nature Boy, letting her features soften, her eyes that perfect shade of liquid silver that made it hard for people to ignore her requests. She reached out, touched his arm. "Please—I have to do this." she whispered.

Flair didn't answer verbally, but his face scrunched up in that way which meant that he had just caved in to something and hated himself for doing it. Elektra wasn't really surprised; it wasn't as hard as some people might think to sway the Nature Boy. She turned around, focusing on the person who would be harder to convince, the person who stood a much greater chance of making sure she didn't go anywhere near that locker room.

Batista was shaking his head as well, vehemently, denying her request before she could even ask it. He didn't need to speak; all his emotions were written in his eyes. Elektra stretched her hand up, touching his face. The gesture seemed to calm Batista a little, but just a little. He stopped shaking his head, but even Elektra's touch couldn't quell the disquiet in his gaze. Before he could speak, the silver-eyed Diva pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Dave," she murmured. "I know what you're thinking. I know what you're _feeling_, because I feel it, too. But believe me…" She brought her other arm up, holding his face in both of her hands. "I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't completely sure that he can't hurt me."

The seconds ticked by slowly. Finally, the Animal sighed, the tension draining out of his body. He looked at her with an expression more resigned than reassured. "All right," he relented. His features hardened slightly. "But if you're not out in fifteen minutes, then I'm coming in there after you."

Elektra nodded, knowing that he meant it, too. "Fair enough." she agreed.

Batista put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her body in a protective embrace. "Be careful," he murmured into her ear.

"I will." Elektra replied, disentangling herself with no small amount of reluctance. She gazed up into his eyes once more. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby." the Animal answered softly, pushing a dark tendril of hair back behind her ear. Impulsively, Elektra tiptoed up and kissed him gently on the lips. Batista gripped the back of her neck as he intensified the kiss bit by bit. Off to the side, FIair rolled his eyes.

The pair eventually pulled apart, and the gray-eyed Diva moved back, step by step, never taking her eyes off Batista. The Animal took her hand, raised it to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers before letting go. Then, and only then, did Elektra turn her back, squaring her shoulders and walking back down the hall toward the Evolution locker room.

Once she was out of earshot, Flair grabbed Batista's arm. The Nature Boy was practically fluttering with worry; he was like a little mother hen. "You're just going to let her walk off like that?" he squawked.

Batista tore his eyes from the departing form of the woman he loved to turn his attention to Flair. A small smile touched his mouth. "_You_ want to be the one to stop her?" he replied, his voice growing warm with affection.

* * *

Outwardly, Elektra was calm, composed, but inside, she was screaming. Her insides were on fire, throbbing with a pulse all their own. She felt almost light-headed from anticipation; her body was so pent-up with nervous energy that her joints were hurting. Common sense was bashing its head against the inside of her skull, trying to get her attention. Yet, the silver-eyed Diva kept walking, kept putting one bare foot in front of the other, shortening the distance between her and a man who was only a few degrees removed from the Antichrist.

But it was more than just trepidation that was pulling her down toward the floor, more than just fear that was infusing her feet with lead. Elektra was filled with the bitter sensation of guilt. For one of the few times in her life—perhaps the first, she wasn't sure—she had just lied to Batista.

She knew something, something she was never supposed to find out, something the Cerebral Assassin had never banked on her learning. She knew about the deal Triple H had made with Randy Orton. Her first impulse, naturally, had been to tell Batista all about his so-called friend's betrayal the minute they got back to the hotel room. But then, she'd sat and listened to the Game's diatribe, to all the things that he said…and all the things that he wasn't saying. And she'd realized then that she stood to gain more by keeping her mouth shut.

Triple H may have willing to sacrifice Batista inside the Elimination Chamber, but now that he was Champion again, he needed the Animal more than ever to protect his interests. If he planned on staying World Champion, he couldn't risk losing Batista, couldn't _afford_ to make the Animal his enemy. He might have implied differently inside the locker room, but there was no way that the Cerebral Assassin would oust Batista from Evolution.

Unfortunately, he _would_ do everything in his power to remove Elektra from the faction. Maybe he couldn't harm her physically, but the gray-eyed Diva knew that Triple H's real power lay in the psychological realm, in all the ways he could threaten her without uttering a single threat. The Game was Champion again, which meant that he could focus all of his energy now on breaking Elektra down.

And the more he toyed with her, the more she would distract Batista from obtaining the World Heavyweight Championship. Batista was an imposing Superstar with an impressive physique, but he was still just a man. Contrary to his belief, he simply could not protect her from the Cerebral Assassin and win the title at the same time. The only way Elektra would be able to ward off Triple H would be by obtaining some leverage of her own.

By striking a bargain with the Game.

Even as she replayed the thoughts in her head, Elektra knew that she was rationalizing. If she played this correctly, there was no need that Batista even know the truth, but if not…she risked losing everything, including him. Either way, she was turning down a path where he could not follow.

Taking a deep breath, Elektra came to a halt in front of the locker room door, pushing it open quietly with one hand. Stepping inside and nudging it closed with her foot, she reached behind her, resting both hands on the handle.

While they had been gone, Triple H had taken a seat on the couch. He reclined against the back, his arms spread out across the upper edge, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as he—finally—took the time to fully savor his victory. At the soft whisper of the door easing shut, his lids slid open a crack, then wider when he saw who it was.

For perhaps the first time in several months, Elektra felt no actual fear. Not because she had conquered her terror of the Game, but because she was too numb to feel anything else. She opened her mouth to speak, found that she couldn't. Better to keep silent then.

There was nothing in the Cerebral Assassin's voice when he spoke; it was more matter-of-fact than anything else. "Either I'm dreaming or else the trainer slipped me something more than just aspirin. Either way—what the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Elektra took a few more careful steps forward, stopping when she reached one of the easy chairs adjacent to the sofa. "To be honest, I'm wondering the same thing myself right now." Her tone was light, casual. Reaching over, she put her hand on the back of the chair, running her fingers lightly over the smooth leather.

Triple H raised his eyebrows. He sat up, his interest obviously piqued by her response. "Really? Well, in that case, since you seem to be searching for a reason to be here, let me give you one." He turned his face to the side, tapping his cheek with one finger. "How about a kiss for the ten-time World Champion?"

Elektra almost gagged; she actually felt hot bile hit the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, not even attempting to mask her revulsion. "Not a chance," she whispered, her voice filled with loathing.

The Game was unfazed. If anything, her vehement rejection only seemed to fuel him more. "Aw, c'mon, babe," he coaxed, his tone taunting. "I'm not _that_ repulsive, am I? Don't tell me that in all the time we spent together, I never _once_ turned you on?"

Elektra's eyes narrowed to small slits, her pale irises glinting between her lashes like flecks of precious metal. "Fine," she retorted, her voice taking on a dangerous note of its own. "I won't tell you."

She wasn't whether her words had awoken a spark of energy within the Cerebral Assassin or if Triple H had merely been biding his time. Regardless, the Game was suddenly on his feet, closing the precious distance between them with an unholy quickness. "You just don't know when to keep that pretty little of mouth of yours shut, do you?" he growled. "You may think that you're a good little actress, but trust me, babe, you're not _that_ good."

"Hunter," Elektra's tone was light, but laced with an undercurrent of steel. "I think that I've pretty much proven—not just tonight, but in the past—that I am a _lot_ better than you're willing to give me credit for."

The Cerebral Assassin's rough features twisted, taking on that familiar sour expression he wore whenever the gray-eyed Diva made a valid point. Of all the things in this world that pissed Triple H off, being proven wrong, particularly by her, was one of them. But from the look of the bolts of pure venom shooting from his eyes, Elektra was willing to wager that she was the item topping the list of grievances right now.

"You're just _so_ smart, aren't you?" the Game answered in a low voice, the menace in it rumbling like distant thunder. "You think you have everything all figured out, including me." He moved closer, looming over her, forcing her to crane her neck upward to look at him. "All those times, all those times I was out in the ring, busting my ass for this company, thinking about you waiting backstage for me…you were back here with Dave, christening this very couch, right behind my back." Elektra saw the anger in his face at the memory of that particular betrayal, recalling the way it had dawned on him gradually yet all at once. But in the next instant, the anger vanished, and his features warped into a leer. "How _is_ Dave, by the way? Is he keeping you satisfied? Does he make you _scream_, just like I used to?"

Elektra's stomach lurched with nausea, driving that vile sour taste back up into her throat. "You're disgusting," was all she managed to say, swallowing and forcing the contents of her stomach back where they belonged.

Triple H's smile broadened. He knew that he had just hit on one of her nodes of discomfort, one which he would nudge all he could until she let her guard down completely. "Don't get so touchy. We both know that the two of us—we're doers, babe. Me…" He shrugged, glancing fondly at the leather and gold belt gracing his shoulder. "I do whatever I have to to win. And you…" His eyes fixed on her again. "You do…_anyone_ you can, just so long as they have one of _these_." Without taking his gaze off her, he grasped his World Heavyweight Championship, lifting it up and dangling the title belt only a short distance from her face. He abruptly released his grip. Elektra couldn't keep herself from flinching as the decorative metal clattered noisily against concrete. Her insides tensed clenched tight, like a fist, for the inevitable explosion.

The Cerebral Assassin's leer vanished, and now she had no trouble gauging his expression, because there was nothing in it but pure unmitigated hatred. His voice was a harsh snarl. "Which begs the question…just what the _fuck_ do you see in Dave Batista?" He reached out, grabbed her upper arms, pulling her roughly to him.

Elektra didn't resist, didn't try to struggle. What would be the point? If she struggled, it would only make her seem like she was afraid, and she was far from afraid. She had been preparing for this moment for a _long_ time; the moment where Triple H finally put his pride aside long enough to demand an explanation. Well, she wasn't going to give him even the suggestion of a response. Instead, she glared back up at him with an equal amount of animosity. "Get your hands off me," she commanded, her voice soft but no less strong.

The Game ignored her, of course; merely tightened his grip. "After all I did for you, I wasn't _good enough_ for you? _I_ wasn't good enough for you?" His tone was somewhere between incredulous and furious. "I'm the fucking World Heavyweight Champion. What's the Animal? What's he ever done, except what Ric and I've told him to do? Oh, yeah, right, fuck up title matches." He brought his nose down close to hers. "And you have the nerve, the _nerve_, to walk around here and act like screwing him is a step up from what you and I had?" The Cerebral Assassin moved his hands to either side of her face, slowly starting to squeeze. "You…you're nothing but a whore. A useless _fucking_ whore—"

"_I said get your fucking hands off me_!" Elektra shrieked. In one swift motion, she swatted Triple H's hands away with both of hers. Before he could react, she swung her hand up again, nailing him with a slap so hard that it sounded like a gunshot. Elektra's palm actually went completely numb for a second, then erupted with sharp pinpicks of pain.

The Game went still, deadly still for a second. His breathing became heavy; his shoulders rising and falling with each ferocious intake of breath. With a snarl, he raised his hand up, palm inward, as though he intended to backhand her. Elektra didn't shy back. If the Cerebral Assassin was going to hit her, she was going to look him in the eye as he did it. But just as Triple H was about to unleash his fury with one swing of his hand, he hesitated.

Elektra lifted her chin up, not tearing her eyes away from him. The Game's face was still a portrait of unbridled loathing, but his indecision was more than enough proof that even after all this time, the recollection of how Batista had overpowered him was still sharply etched in his memory. The Cerebral Assassin wanted to hurt her; she could see it in his eyes. But he also knew what awaited him if he did, and he didn't want to admit that it scared him.

"What are you waiting for, Hunter?" she asked quietly, her voice holding only the barest hint of mocking. "Go ahead. Hit me." Triple H remained where he was, his hand still raised in mid-air. Elektra rushed on. "Come on, isn't this what you've always wanted: you, me, alone, with _no_ _one_ nearby to come to my rescue?" She bent forward a little, putting her in close range to the Game. "Do it. _Hit me_."

The Cerebral Assassin stared back at her for a few seconds. The look on his face was murderous. But without speaking a word, he slowly, deliberately, lowered his hand.

Elektra smiled, a tight cold smile, taking care not to let too much of her malicious glee shine through her nonchalant expression. Even now, she was still walking a very fine line. Just because Triple H had backed down now didn't mean that he wouldn't try anything. And as she knew from personal experience, it wouldn't take very much or very long to make her regret it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she remarked, her tone just as derisive as his had been a few minutes before. "You know—just like I do—what'll happen to you if you put your hands on me again." She pointed past him to the couch. "_Sit_."

The Game's eyes bulged with fury. He still seemed to be panting for each breath. "Just who the hell do you think you are?" he spat angrily. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? You think that you can just waltz in here and—"

"Oh, Hunter, I'm _shaking_!" Elektra interjected sarcastically. "You're such a _big tough man_! In fact—" She stepped forward, jabbing her index finger against his massive chest. "You're _such_ a man that you had to pay _Randy Orton_ to do your dirty work!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Triple H blanched noticeably. His wrathful countenance didn't change, but there was a definite nervousness in his eyes that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. He stared at her warily, turning his head to the side a little, his gaze never leaving hers. "_You_ don't know what you're talking about," he finally said in a voice that was far from sure of itself.

"Oh, so you _didn't_ hire Randy to injure Dave tonight?" Elektra retorted. It was more of a statement than a question, and a biting one at that. She jabbed harder, digging her fingernail into his skin and twisting. "_Prove it_. Otherwise, _sit down _ and _shut the fuck up_."

A number of long anxious moments ticked by. The Game glared at her wordlessly, the only movement in his body the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. After what seemed like an eternity, he backed up, taking a cautious seat on the sofa.

Her movements just as wary, Elektra moved around to the front of the easy chair, perching herself on the edge of the seat, her hands resting lightly on the armrests. Another long period of silence passed as the pair eyed each other.

The Cerebral Assassin was the one to clear his throat and speak. "How did you find out?" he asked. It was almost amusing to hear him trying to sound casual.

Elektra fixed Triple H with a look just as pitiless as her voice. "The problem with Orton is that he's just like a villain in a James Bond film—he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

The Game sighed, sounding more exasperated than anything else. He massaged his forehead gingerly with one hand. "Fucking moron…" he muttered, probably to no one except himself. Glancing back up, he sighed a second time, this one just as weary as the first. "Let's cut to the chase—what do you want?"

Elektra arched one delicate eyebrow. "_Want_?" she repeated scornfully, a tiny smile gracing the corners of her mouth. "What makes you think that I _want_ anything?"

"Don't play games, babe." The Cerebral Assassin's tone was terse, annoyed. "You wouldn't even be here if you didn't want anything; you would have run your mouth off to Dave by now. So I'll ask again: _what do you want_?"

Elektra's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of intense dislike. "I'll be quick, Hunter, and simple—I don't want _anything_ from you." A flash of bewilderment flitted across Triple H's features. He was obviously having trouble comprehending this.

The gray-eyed Diva leaned forward a little, crossing one leg over the other. "Let me make myself more clear; I don't want your money, I don't want title opportunities, I don't want anything at all that you're capable of providing me. As a matter of fact—" Her eyes were glittering orbs of silver. "I want you to stay as far away from me as possible. You don't touch me, you don't talk to me, you don't even look at me unless you have to. _That's _my price, Hunter. You leave me alone, you pretend I don't exist, and in return…" She sat back. "I keep my mouth shut."

The Game eyed her with suspicion. "I don't get it," he admitted after a while. "You don't like me; you've pretty much made it clear that you'd love nothing better than seeing your boyfriend kick my ass. So why, when you've finally found a reason to sic him on me, are you going to all this trouble to keep him in the dark?"

Elektra cocked her head to one side. "Leverage, perhaps?" She rested both hands on her knee. "Maybe I'm just looking out for myself; making sure that when Dave _does_ kick your ass—and he will—you won't try and stop him by targeting me." She saw the Cerebral Assassin open his mouth to speak and quickly cut him off. "Don't play innocent with me, Hunter. We both know that you were thinking about it long before the Elimination Chamber; trying to drive me out of Evolution by driving me out of my fucking mind first. In fact, the only reason you even put a hit out on Dave was so you'd finally get a clear shot at me. You try and make it all about him…but in reality, it's always been about you and me."

Her voice dropped a little. "Or maybe this is about revenge, about watching _you_ squirm for once. Remember Eugene, Hunter? Remember that little _bargain_ you made with me then?" The corners of Triple H's mouth turned downward. Evidently, he did. Elektra continued, her tone becoming flat as the memory played out in her mind. "Oh you enjoyed yourself _so_ _much_ during that whole debacle, didn't you? Watching me suffer, knowing that it was killing me inside, knowing that I couldn't say or do anything without losing my career? Well, now it's _your_ turn." Her voice was almost a whisper by now. God, she was enjoying this. "How does it feel, Hunter? Does it hurt?"

The Game's jaw tightened. "Blow me, bitch." he muttered, in a voice just a little too loud to be under his breath.

Elektra stared back at him, enjoying this newfound sense of power and its ability to let her get under Triple H's skin. As twisted as it was, she could see now why the Cerebral Assassin delighted in mind games. The feeling of control…it was such a rush. "You only wish." she replied, her tone perfectly even.

Triple H's body was tense with anger and irritation. Elektra could see in his eyes that he was longing to pounce on her, to wrap both hands around her throat and squeeze. But he remained where he was, on the couch, elbows on his knees, slightly hunched over. His hands twitched, itching to lock themselves onto a target. But still the Game hung onto rationality with every iota of self-control, not out of respect to her, but fear of the consequences harming her would bring. "That all?" he grumbled. "You done cutting my nuts off yet?"

Elektra knew that she had to tread lightly. All the threats, all the leverage in the world couldn't change the fact that she was in the cage with the beast now. If she pushed Triple H too hard, too fast, she would not even live to regret it.

The gray-eyed Diva took a deep breath, bending over a little more and in the process, giving the Cerebral Assassin a spectacular view of her cleavage. Under any other circumstances, she wouldn't have dared, but this was different. This time, she could cocktease him and get away with it. Besides, there was one thing that she had to know, and she could already tell instinctively that she was not going to enjoy the answer. "Just one more thing…a question, really." Elektra gazed at the Game, and her demeanor turned chilly once more. Her words were clipped and deliberate. "Did you send Orton after me?"

Even before he spoke, Triple H radiated culpability. The first emotion to flash across his face wasn't anger or pride, but utter consternation. She could almost hear the sentiment written over his features: _Aww, fuck me_…

"_Did you_?" Elektra pressed, knowing the answer by now, but still wanting validation, wanting that verbal admission of guilt. All vestiges of amusement had vanished from her face.

The Cerebral Assassin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, reaching up to scratch his cheek absently. "No, of course not," he murmured half-heartedly. Elektra wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

"Hunter, look at me," she commanded. The Game ignored her, casting his eyes toward the floor. She could see the wheels in his head turning, trying to figure out how to spin this, how to place the blame squarely on Orton's broad shoulders and not on his own.

For the first time since she'd entered the room, the silver-eyed Diva's delicately featured face warped with utter rage. "_Look at me, you shit_!" she screamed, her voice almost a sob. In one rapid motion, she stood, storming over to Triple H. Putting her knee between both of his, she planted one hand on his chest and pushed him back, grabbing his chin with one hand to force his head up. With the other, she gestured at her face. "You think I'm _joking_? Take a good look at _this_! I didn't get _this_ from falling off a cage. So I'm going to ask you one more time—and please, think _very carefully _this time before you answer—_did you send Orton after me_?"

Seconds passed, then a minute, and Triple H didn't reply. Elektra was starting to think that he wasn't going to when she heard his voice, both terse and placating at the same time. He didn't look at her; kept his eyes downcast despite their close proximity. "_Okay_," he admitted with reluctance. "A few weeks ago, I _may_ have _suggested_ something to Orton—"

Elektra didn't give him a chance to finish. She released her grip, rising back up. Her expression was a picture of calm disbelief. Unconsciously, she wiped her hand on the fabric of her skirt, as though the mere act of touching him could somehow infect her as well. "My God, you're despicable," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Hey!" the Cerebral Assassin protested. "I didn't think that the little chickenshit would have the balls to actually go _through _with it!"

"Bullshit," the gray-eyed Diva interrupted tonelessly. "You knew he would, you just didn't _care_. Not only that—" She stopped, peering down at him, as though eyeing a specimen in a jar. "You're—you're _proud_ of him, aren't you?" The Game didn't answer, but then again, he didn't really need to.

Elektra shook her head incredulously, this revelation almost too monstrous to accept. "Jesus Christ, there's nothing you two bond over more than seeing me in pain, isn't there?" She felt emotion boiling inside of her and struggled to contain it. As much as she hadn't planned on it, she was starting to lose her cool. "Some things just never change, do they? Even now, I'm still just a fucking toy to both of you."

"I dunno, I'd feel flattered if I were you," Triple H's tone was light, and held an ever-growing note of confidence. "I offered Orton money and a title shot, and he still wouldn't bite. I offered him _you_—and his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas."

Elektra almost choked on the rage that swarmed upward from the pit of her stomach. "You sick fuck—" she muttered through gritted teeth, lunging down toward him, her hand upraised to strike him once more. But at the last possible second—just as the Cerebral Assassin had done minutes before—she stopped.

As good as the anger felt, and as justified as it may be, it would only cloud her judgment and give the Game a greater chance of slipping in and regaining control of the situation. Her only recourse was to file her emotions away, to view their conversation as nothing more than a storyline for television.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out again and let her features rearrange themselves into one of chilly disdain. "You know what, Hunter? Just for that, I'm changing the deal. The conditions I just gave you—they apply to Randy Orton, too." She leaned down, her face inches from his. "If he comes _anywhere near me_, I'm telling Dave everything. And I mean _everything_. Do you understand? You better, because I'm holding you personally responsible for him."

"It won't be easy," Triple H replied testily. "Orton isn't exactly Evolution-friendly…and he's bound to be in a bad mood after tonight's match."

"Really?" Elektra asked sarcastically. "I don't care. You _find_ a way. Use your incredible powers of persuasion to convince him otherwise. It shouldn't be too hard; after all, you two are so much alike." The silver-eyed Diva straightened up. "So what's it gonna be, Hunter?" she taunted. "Are you gonna do the right thing…or the smart thing?" Just taking those words, mocking words uttered to her a long time ago, and turning them back on the Cerebral Assassin made her body tingle with satisfaction.

The Game pressed his lips together until they were a thin line transecting his face. From the expression on his face, he knew that he was trapped. Finally, he sighed. "You just _love_ twisting the knife, don't you, babe?" he remarked, his voice resigned and bitter. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was trying to find the courage to form his next words. "_Fine_."

As soon as he spoke that single syllable, Elektra let out an inaudible sigh of relief. With one word, Triple H had just guaranteed her safety, and if there was one thing to induce the Cerebral Assassin to keep his word, it was fear. With the relief, however, there also was a twinge of conscience, as she remembered, with reluctance, that she was buying her security by lying to one of the very few people she truly cared about. It didn't seem fair that the only way she could protect herself from the monsters was by bargaining with the monsters. But this wasn't just about her; it was about Batista as well. Elektra knew that he could protect her; that wasn't the issue. But she wanted him to be more than just her defender; she wanted him to be Champion.

It was a horrible double-edged sword. Batista didn't want to win the title at the expense of her; Elektra didn't want to be the obstacle standing between him and Championship gold.

Triple H peered up at her suspiciously, snapping Elektra out of her reverie. "Are we done here?" he growled. "Because I don't know about you, but I want you the hell out of here." He extended his hand, palm up, staring at her expectantly. After a few moments of hesitation, Elektra reached down and accepted it.

Instantly, the Cerebral Assassin's huge paw closed around hers in a crushing grip. With one powerful tug, he pulled her down to him, causing her to trip and fall awkwardly onto his lap. Before she could free herself, he clamped his other hand on the back of her neck, forcing her head down and pressing his mouth against hers.

To Elektra, the kiss was a violation, plain and simple. Just the sensation of the Game's lips on hers made her want to vomit. She tried to squeeze her mouth shut, but his tongue slid, unwanted, between her lips, invading her. The gray-eyed Diva tried to squirm free, a panicked mewling sound emanating from her throat. She desperately clawed at him with her free hand, sinking her nails in wherever her fingertips encountered skin. But it made no difference; it was like clawing a rock. Triple H was too strong by far, and she couldn't get the necessary leverage to break loose. It was obvious that the new World Heavyweight Champion was only going to stop when _he_ was finished.

Just as abruptly, the Cerebral Assassin pushed her back, still holding the back of her neck, his face only a short distance from hers. His eyes swept over her features, taking in the delicately etched lines of her face, her throat, traveling down to the swell of her cleavage. Elektra felt the weight of his gaze on her; it too felt like a contaminant.

The Game's eyes locked with hers again, and this time, he smiled. Not just any smile, but a broad sprawling grin which he saved for when he was pleased with himself. "God, you are fucking sexy as hell," he murmured. Elektra didn't know whether he was paying her a compliment or merely making an observation to himself. Either way, she wanted as much distance between him and her as humanly possible.

Reaching back, grabbing his hand, she managed to extricate herself. Backing up until her calves collided with the easy chair, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, actually spitting on the floor itself. She wanted nothing more than to rid her mouth of the taste of him. "You sick fucking _bastard_!" she whispered. All of her coolness, her control; it was gone in a flash, thanks to Triple H. Maybe that was his plan from the beginning, or maybe he was just making it up as he went along. Whatever the reason, he finally had her where he wanted her. He had her furious, and if she didn't get a hold of herself and soon, he would be the one in control. "_Why_?" she raged.

Triple H shrugged. The kiss actually seemed to have calmed him down. "No reason, babe…just wanted a little taste of what I've been missing."

Elektra spat again. God, what she wouldn't give right now for a whole container of mouthwash. "You need help, Hunter, _seriously_."

"Maybe," The Cerebral Assassin sat up, leaning on his knees, clasping his hands together. "But isn't it interesting?"

Just something about the way he said it was enough to make Elektra stop and take notice. If the Game wasn't toying with her yet, he was about to. "What is?" she snapped, bracing herself mentally.

Triple H's smile became even wider. He looked almost beatific, which was terrifying considering the thoughts that must be coursing through his brain. "I just realized that now, we _both_ know something we don't want Batista to know."

For an instant, Elektra didn't know what he meant, and then, in a rush, it hit her. Oh, _that_. "Are you high?" she retorted. "You think that by forcing me to kiss you, you've somehow evened out the playing field? What, you think that Dave's actually going to listen to you?" She let out a snort of derision. "Hate to break it to you, but after what you did to me, he thinks you're full of _shit_."

"That doesn't mean that I can't drop a few hints now and then," Triple H answered, his voice still even and brimming with confidence. "A word here, an innuendo there…I don't know whether you know this, babe, but Dave's a jealous guy, and you and I _did_ have a relationship for almost a year. Last time he snapped—well, I've heard through the grapevine that your back's _still_ a mess from that Batista Bomb. Another hit like that, and you might just have to retire from the business altogether. _By the way_…" He paused, savoring the emphasis. "Did you ever let your boyfriend know just _why_ you were making out with your old nemesis Randy Orton?"

Elektra froze for several seconds. All she could do during that time was stare back at the Cerebral Assassin, watching his face flush with growing confidence, watching his smile deepen into a smirk. He was sure that he'd got her with that last shot. He was sure that he'd won.

It was at that point that the silver-eyed Diva stepped forward, raising up her bare foot and driving it, heel-first, into the Game's groin. The ten-time World Champion made a small strangled noise of agony and slumped forward, clutching himself with both hands.

Elektra stared down at him without pity. Bending over, she spoke in an icy whisper. "You feel that? That pain you're experiencing—it's nothing compared to what could follow. So don't even bother trying to blackmail me, because I will make sure that this championship reign is even shorter than your last one." She put her mouth next to his ear, knowing that he was too incapacitated to do anything. "Don't you get it? If you try and destroy me this time, then at the very least, I will take you down with me."

Moving backward, she turned around and headed for the door, fully intending for those to be her final words to Triple H. But being the egotist that he was, the Cerebral Assassin was not content with that arrangement. Like Orton, he wasn't satisfied until he got the last word. The gray-eyed Diva had her hand on the door when she heard his voice, strained but still filled with searing animosity.

"You know, you come in here, you ruin my good mood, you cut my nuts off—and the whole time, you don't even have the decency to thank me for the flowers I gave you."

Elektra spun around, rolling her eyes, exasperated more than anything else. "Hunter, I know you're in pain right now, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't be coy with me, babe," By now, the Game had managed to push himself up, still gingerly cupping himself with one hand. "I put the box on your porch myself. There's no way you could have missed it."

Elektra closed her eyes, inhaling deep and willing herself to be calm. "Like you even know where I live." she shot back.

"Oh, I don't?" Now Triple H's eyes were on her, burning through her with a hatred she could only begin to fathom. There was something in his voice—she didn't know what—but the sound of it chilled her to the bone. She could only listen, hoping that she didn't look as spellbound as she was. The Cerebral Assassin ticked off items on his fingers. "Cute little two-story, white paint, green trim, little tree out front decked out with lights? Any of this ringing a bell?" He looked at her, but didn't wait for a response. "Oh, and that butterfly wind chime hanging over your stoop." The Game stopped, smiling now. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you're a butterfly person?"

Elektra felt each of his words sink in, and each other sent her stomach further and further into oblivion. The blood was pounding in her ears. She didn't know what to think; all she knew with certainty was that her home, her little corner of the world, her final place of refuge had been invaded, ripped from her without mercy or compassion. Hearing Triple H describe her house with such clarity of detail left her with no doubt; he had been there. He knew where she lived, he knew where to find her. In that moment, Elektra felt the separate lives she led, that of a WWE Diva and that of a young woman residing in Maryland, begin to bleed together.

Triple H wasn't done, however. "Maybe I should make another visit, just to make sure I got the right house." He was smiling, but his eyes were dead. "Just think, you could open the door some afternoon and find me waiting on your doorstep."

The threat pinged off of Elektra's mind, doing no damage, but leaving a mark nonetheless. Her heart was pounding; she felt like she might collapse at any second. The gauntlet had been thrown down; the second she walked out of here, it would be a declaration of war. But if she gave in now, then it would never stop, period. And she would be damned if she let things go back to the way they were.

The silver-eyed Diva didn't move from the door. Instead, she let her pale eyes drift to the ground, to the carelessly discarded World Heavyweight Championship. "Take a good look at that title, Hunter," she replied quietly. The Cerebral Assassin followed her gaze. "Think about what you went through to get it…and then think about how you're going to defend it if you're in a _coma_. Because that's what'll happen if you _ever_ threaten me again." Her voice rose to a hoarse shout, quavering with emotion. She stopped, almost too drained, emotionally and physically, to continue. But she had to finish this. She had to see this to its conclusion. "I'm _done_ being your whore, Hunter. I was done a long time ago…you're just the only person who doesn't know it." She turned back, grasping the door handle.

"You think this is over?" the Game snarled. "This isn't over, bitch!"

"It never is, Hunter." Elektra said over her shoulder as she stepped out into the hallway. "It never is," she repeated softly to herself.


	44. Chapter 44: A Second Chance

Chapter 44: A Second Chance

As soon as they were inside the hotel room, Batista pushed Elektra up against the wall, kissing her hungrily, his hands roaming over her body. The gray-eyed Diva relaxed with a soft sigh, relinquishing herself to his touch, his caress. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she let her fingers explore the sculpted lines of his abdomen. Breaking off contact with his skin reluctantly, she groped for and found the bottom button of his shirt, undoing it and working her way up. Unfastening the final one, she pushed the garment open and off his shoulders, down his arms until it drifted to the floor in a puddle of light fabric.

Running her hands up Batista's bare chest, she heard him moan softly, and a low one of her own escaped her, an answering call to his desire. She wanted him so desperately that it hurt; a pleasurable pain, its only remedy the joining of their bodies.

During the months she had spent with him, Triple H had believed that a romantic relationship between Elektra and Batista was absurd, if not impossible. Now, in his perpetual haze of sullen hostility, the Game's beliefs appeared to have swung in the opposite direction, as he seemed convinced that the silver-eyed Diva had been getting it on with the Animal from day one. The idea was so far from the truth that Elektra almost wanted to laugh. The span of her relationship with Batista was punctuated more by wanting than by actually doing. She had been in love with the Animal for a little over a year, but they had only been physically intimate for a fraction of that time.

And whenever they were together, something—whether it was through their own choices or forces beyond their control—always seemed to pull them apart. Distance and the ache of forbidden desire…it was as much a part of their relationship as the love and affection that bound them together. She would have thought that these constant periods apart would have inured her to it, but if anything, it only served to heighten the injustice of it all. It seemed so unfair, enduring so much separation for these few moments of warmth, of total fulfillment. All she wanted was Batista; was that too much to ask?

Maybe it was the memory of Orton's attack in the hallway, or maybe it was just the residue of the brutality surrounding the entire evening; whatever it was, it made Elektra want to savor this particular moment, to hold onto it until it finally slipped from her grasp. Time was so precious, _life_ was so precious, and she didn't want to waste any more of it. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel their bodies become one; a physical union that mirrored the connection between their souls.

Unfortunately, in the midst of all that bliss, a feeling of guilt surged outward from her subconscious with such power that it made her lightheaded. She was reminded, unwillingly, of the arrangement she had made with the Cerebral Assassin. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, the hard truth was that this bargain was not far removed from what she had first done to survive in this business: sell something for her own safety. Only this time, it wasn't her body. Elektra was risking something less tangible, but no less valuable: Batista's trust.

Elektra was filled with a sense of awful foreboding; a feeling of ominous intuition that told her there would be a steep price to pay for all this. And this time, it wouldn't be a beating in the center of the ring. A beating…that would heal. But broken trust? Like fine slivers of shattered glass, that was not so easy to repair.

The memory of what she had done, of the lie that she was only just beginning to maintain, was so overwhelming that Elektra broke off her passionate kissing with the Animal. She leaned back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut, struggling to catch her breath. For one sickening moment, the floor beneath her seemed to drop out and she almost lost sense of her physical bearings. But just as quickly, she regained control of herself and held on tight, refusing to hyperventilate.

The Animal looked down at her with surprise, an emotion which quickly gave way to concern. "Baby? What is it? What's wrong?" He took hold of her shoulders, gently pulling her back to him. The moment his fingers touched her skin, Elektra felt her heartbeat finally start to slow. Batista was an anchor, both a physical and emotional one, holding her back from the brink.

Whatever relief she was feeling inside, however, must not have registered on her face, because she saw the first signs of panic begin to show in Batista's eyes. "Did I hurt you?" he asked frantically, his words starting to overlap one another. "Am I going too fast?" His hands slid up to her throat, then her face, the warmth of his body flowing into hers, driving away the cold. The Animal pressed his lips to her forehead, to her hair. "Please, Baby, talk to me," he whispered.

Elektra's pale eyes fluttered shut for an instant, and even the soothing power of Batista's touch couldn't keep a flash of bitterness from brushing past her heart. The one good thing she had, the one person who truly cared about her—and she was putting it all in jeopardy. After enduring all this shit for two weeks, all this lying to everyone else, she was lying to him. But it was all for the best, wasn't it? Just a little white lie, just a tiny omission of the truth; one that would allow the Animal to focus on the World Heavyweight Championship without _any_ distractions.

It would all be worth it in the end…wouldn't it?

Elektra slowly opened her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. She took a deep breath, attempting to figure out how to evade the truth without actually lying.

"No, it's not you," she finally managed to say. "It's just…" Her emotions began to overtake her and she forced them back before they could let her say something she might regret. She bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. "Tonight…" She stopped, lost for words.

Then, as though by magic, the words appeared in her mind, like lines on a script. The silver-eyed Diva began to talk anew, haltingly, grateful that she at least wasn't faking the emotions in her voice or on her face. "Tonight…has been _so overwhelming_. I mean, my head is spinning."

She tried to blink away the tears, but only succeeded in forcing them down onto her lower lashes, where they eventually trickled down her cheeks. Elektra wiped them away with the tips of her fingers, still talking. "There is so much that I want to _remember_…but there're also things that I can't forget." Unconsciously, her fingers danced across the bruise marring her cheek. "A lot of things," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Something passed across Batista's face; a look of intense pain, and Elektra immediately felt another bolt of guilt shoot through her. After all the physical punishment he had suffered tonight, he didn't need to start punishing himself, certainly not for Randy Orton's wrongdoing. "I should have been there…" he whispered.

Elektra placed her fingers over his lips before he could complete the thought, touching his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. "Don't say that," she interjected quietly. "Please, don't blame yourself for what happened. How could you have known? _I_ didn't even know…I thought—both of us thought—that we'd seen the last of him after that last powerbomb. How could we know that he would try again?"

Instead of answering right away, the Animal caressed her cheek with his hand, his touch as light as a butterfly brushing against her skin. When he did respond, his voice was quiet, but filled with intense pain. "It doesn't matter—it still doesn't change the fact that I wasn't there when you needed me."

Elektra started to say something else, but stopped. This was Batista's own private anguish, one he would have to deal with on his own terms. How could she assuage his guilt when she couldn't even get rid of her own? The truth was that she couldn't; the only thing she could do was relieve his fears until, hopefully, he could forgive himself.

She bowed her head, her hair brushing past her cheeks, wishing that she had never broached the subject. All she had managed to do was force the Animal to carry a burden he had no need to bear. And while she tried to ease his suffering, she was dying inside from a personal guilt of her own making. Only hers was worse, because unlike Batista, she couldn't share the real reasons behind her pain.

She felt Batista's hands on her face, tilting her head up until she had no choice but to look at him. The Animal gazed into her eyes, hesitating at first before continuing in a halting voice. "He didn't—" Batista stopped, the very idea too monstrous for even him to voice. From the conflicted look on his face, it was obvious that he didn't want to know, yet _had_ to know.

Elektra gasped, astonished that his mind would make that jump, anguished that she had led him to make that leap. She shook her head vehemently, the indignation and denial emanating from her body in hot waves before she could even open her mouth to vocalize it. "No…no, never! _Never_! I would rather die!" The power of that last statement shocked her into temporary speechlessness, but regardless, she knew it was the most accurate assertion she could make concerning her animosity toward the Legend Killer. "I would rather die," she repeated softly, never taking her eyes off the Animal.

As soon as the first "No" was out of her mouth, Batista's massive frame sagged with visible relief. Nonetheless, he, too, seemed stunned by her words. He glanced down at the floor, almost as though he was afraid of her in this moment, of the emotion that radiated from her very being. Elektra swallowed, feeling the ache of tears in the back of her throat, but yet relieved that, at last, she had found _something_ that she could say with all truthfulness. "Dave, look at me," she murmured. Still, the Animal kept his gaze down. "_Please_," she managed to whisper, her feelings making her voice crack. Fresh tears swam in her vision. Her brief falter was enough to make Batista look up, concern dominating his features now. Whatever he might be feeling, it was obvious that he had not meant to make her cry. He reached out, brushed the tears back from her lashes with his thumb.

Elektra swallowed again, flicking her lids down for just a second, collecting herself once more before looking up at him again. "I don't know what Randy said to you out in that ring; I don't want to know. But regardless of what he _might_ have implied, he didn't get _anything_ he wanted from me." She lifted up her left hand, displaying the silver band still residing on her ring finger. "Not a _thing_." she finished quietly.

For a long moment, Batista looked back at her, saying nothing. Finally, he reached over, and enclosed her hand in his. Tugging gently, he pulled her to him, letting go of her hand and wrapping his strong arms around her slender frame. Elektra pressed her cheek against his chest, leaning into the curve of his body, feeling sheltered, protected.

She heard the beating of his heart, and as she listened, it quickened. Batista's breathing grew heavier, and his hands, resting lightly on her back, began to drift lower. For a few precious seconds, Elektra wanted to lose herself in his arms, to let physical pleasure drive away the guilt gnawing at her heart. But she soon realized that would not be the case.

She had been through a hell of a lot tonight, more than some Divas went through in an entire career. Her emotions had been stretched to the breaking point, and she was on the verge of being completely overwhelmed. Right now, she needed a few minutes to herself, some time to collect her thoughts and decide how she was going to handle it from here.

Elektra reluctantly pulled away from the Animal, disentangling her arms and stepping back. "Sorry," she apologized, painfully aware of the surprise and even disappointment already apparent in Batista's face. "I know it's been awhile and believe me, I want you so badly--" Batista reached for her again, and this time, she raised her arms, shying back. Not out of any aversion to his touch, but because she knew that if she let him put his hands on her again, she wouldn't be able to resist this time. Instead, she looked up, forcing herself to ignore her desire, her hunger. "But look at me." The gray-eyed Diva gestured at herself. "I've been thrown against a wall, punched in the face, knocked off the side of a cage—I am _covered_ with arena dirt, and I need a shower in the worst way."

She saw Batista relax, perhaps grateful that she was only making him wait as opposed to rejecting him completely. But the whole time she was talking, Elektra could have sworn that she saw _something_—Doubt? Accusation?—in his eyes. She didn't get a chance to speculate further, because as soon as she finished, it vanished, replaced by love and caring. "Fair enough," he replied, echoing a sentiment Elektra had uttered only hours before.

Elektra eased her body around his, moving toward the small bathroom along the opposite wall. "I won't be long," she remarked playfully.

"You better not be," Batista's tone was just as teasing. "Otherwise…I'll have to come in there after you."

Elektra turned back around, raising her eyebrows questioningly. The Animal's expression was completely innocent…but the slight curl of his mouth, the devilish glint in his eyes hinted at things that were anything but. Elektra's heart began to race, and she felt all the blood rushing to her cheeks, burning outward and turning her face a bright red. Quickly, before she could lose all inhibitions and take those few little steps back into his arms, she moved into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door was shut, however, her entire demeanor changed. Her confidence disappeared, and she felt her body sagging toward the floor, threatening to melt into a puddle of flesh and blood. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks one by one, but Elektra didn't make a sound. The last thing she wanted was to give Batista any indication that she was far unhappier than she had appeared. So she just let them pour down, blurring her vision, splotching the neckline of her top.

Biting her lip to keep shallow breaths from escaping her mouth, Elektra tore the clothes from her body, throwing them onto the tile floor in a careless heap. It didn't matter where they fell; she would never wear them again after tonight. Sitting on the edge of the sink, she unbuckled her stilettos (retrieved from the Chamber by a well-meaning Jack Doan), and resisting the urge to throw them against the wall, set them down gently. Completely nude now, she eased her body off the sink and turned around, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Why was the image staring back at her so accusingly?

_Don't look at me like that_…she silently told her reflection. _I did it for him_.

_Did you_? Incredibly, Elektra heard her own voice in her head, the sound of it mocking her. _Or did you just do it for yourself_?

Elektra wanted to tell the reflection to shut up, possibly even to go to Hell, when she realized the absurdity of it. She was _arguing_ with _herself._ She must be more exhausted than she thought. Still, she wanted to get the last word, even if it was with her own subconscious. _It doesn't matter_…she thought. _It's in the past now, and I can't take it back. Whatever happens after this, happens_.

As the thought passed through her mind, a kind of peace came over her. The dark veil of guilt and misery lifted, and the room itself seemed to brighten. Elektra rubbed her temples with one hand, sighing quietly. A nice hot shower, and hopefully everything would return to normal.

Elektra twisted the knob of the shower, testing the water with her hand until it was the right temperature. Stepping into the tub, she pulled the curtain closed behind her and let the hot spray beat down on her body. Her worries, her anxieties, the contamination she felt after being in contact with both the Game and the Legend Killer—all were washed down the drain with the excess water. Elektra closed her eyes, letting herself give in to the sheer singular pleasure that a good shower can bring.

She was so preoccupied, she never heard the door ease open. She didn't even realize that someone was in the room until she felt a blast of cool air hit her as the curtain was pulled back. Elektra shrieked in surprise, her eyes flying open, almost inhaling a mouthful of water in the process, but her shock quickly dissipated as she realized that it was only Batista joining her.

"Dave, wha—" she began, but words soon failed her as her eyes swept, unbidden, over his body. Like her, he, too, was naked.

Batista grinned, perhaps enjoying the effect that he was having on her. "Sorry to scare you, baby, but I figured, hey, why don't I join you and save water?" He put his hands on her waist, pulling her closer and angling her so the warm water bathed them both. The shower space was not big by any means of the imagination, but Elektra felt far from uncomfortable. She still couldn't tear her gaze from his body, from the way the water shone on his bronze skin.

She looked up, feeling that familiar powerlessness that one look from him was enough to evoke. "Was that _all_ you were thinking?" she joked, her voice already becoming huskier with need.

Batista raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Not quite," he admitted. He slid his hands over the curves of her body, seeking out intimate contours, as he pressed her back against the shower wall. He dipped his head down, his lips grazing the curve of her neck, her earlobe. "I told you I'd come in here after you," he whispered as he pulled her tight against him.

* * *

Batista kissed Elektra's forehead, tangling his hands in her hair, which was still a little damp. Letting his arms drift down, he wrapped them around her body, breathing a low sigh of contentment.

Elektra snuggled up closer to the Animal, breathing in the scent of his skin. She closed her eyes, vivid memories dancing across her mind. The shower…and then what had followed…just recalling it sent a pleasurable shiver down her back. Regardless of what had occurred earlier and over the last two weeks, it had been worth it for this moment of utter bliss. She felt completely satisfied, physically and emotionally sated, really to accept whatever might happen. Triple H, Randy Orton, the World Heavyweight Championship—none of them could ever measure up to this sensation of pure unadulterated happiness.

Elektra began to drift off, the sleeplessness of weeks past driven away in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She rested her cheek on Batista's chest, the sound of his heartbeat sending her even faster toward slumber. She would have fallen asleep right then—if the quiet rumble of his voice hadn't roused her.

"Elektra? Baby? You still awake?"

"Hm?" Elektra lifted her head, peering up at the Animal sleepily. "What is it?" she murmured.

Batista shifted slightly, bracing himself on one elbow. Elektra stretched out beside him, reaching over with one hand to idly trace the contours of his chest. The Animal paused, trying to decide how to phrase his next sentence. "Tomorrow…at Raw…I'm going to Eric Bischoff…and I'm asking him for a match against Randy Orton."

This statement was enough to temporarily drive sleep from Elektra's mind. She rolled over onto her stomach, propping herself up with both elbows as she looked at him. Her pale eyes were wide, the color of starlight.

Batista reached over to push her hair over one shoulder, running his hand down the smooth skin of her back as he continued. "As far as I'm concerned, if anyone asks…it's because he eliminated me from the match last night." His eyes locked onto hers. "I'm telling you first so that you'll know the real reason."

He didn't need to voice it; Elektra heard the unspoken meaning loud and clear. Batista's match against Randy Orton—it would be about revenge, but not revenge for what had happened to the Animal. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. Amazing; she would have thought that after so much crying tonight, her tears would be spent. Apparently not. She stared deep into Batista's eyes, loving him even more in this moment. "Thank you," she managed to whisper, her voice catching just a little.

The Animal leaned in close, his nose brushing hers. "I'm going to make sure that bastard never touches you again." he murmured.

Elektra tilted her head to the side, capturing his mouth with a soft kiss. When she finally pulled back, she gazed at his face, drinking in every line, every curve. "I know," she replied. Inching closer, she curled up against him, her rock, her savior. "Thank you," she whispered one final time as she drifted off into long-awaited slumber.

* * *

In Ric Flair's opinion, Triple H should have been in high spirits the following night on Raw. After all, didn't the Game now possess what he desired most: the World Heavyweight Championship? Hadn't he proved, yet again, that he was the best the WWE had to offer? The Cerebral Assassin should have been elated…but ever since they had touched down in Fort Lauderdale this afternoon, this particular emotion had not been on display. Instead, Triple H had been moody, irritable…and strangely enough, anxious.

It was as though the Game could already see into the future, could visualize the precise moment when the axe would fall, severing his tenth title reign. Although, Flair mused, maybe it wasn't when, but _who_ would be wielding the axe for that fatal blow.

All this the Nature Boy pondered and kept wisely to himself. Flair had doubts just like any other human being, but unlike Batista, he knew when and where to express them. Instead, he watched the Cerebral Assassin pace across the locker room, practically wearing out a path on the floor, muttering occasionally to himself. The Nature Boy listened attentively, ready with vague sentiments of reassurance should they be needed. It was easier sometimes to speak and say nothing than to keep silent and reveal everything.

Triple H's sunglasses were pushed up on top of his head. The massive title belt was in its usual spot on his shoulder; the fingers of one hand were already beating out a nervous tattoo on its polished surface. With the other, the Game tugged absently at his tie, as though it were choking him. "Where _is_ he?" he demanded in a low voice.

The Nature Boy didn't waste breath by asking for clarification; _he_ knew as well as the Cerebral Assassin. "Relax, Champ," he replied soothingly, the sympathy more of a reflex than a genuine response. "He's just a few minutes late—"

"Quit making excuses for him, Ric!" Triple H snapped. "After what he did last night, he should know better than to try and push my buttons!" The Champion redoubled his pacing with a vengeance. "I told him when we got to the arena—I told him _three times_! He knows _damn well_ where he's supposed to be; he's just ignoring me!"

"Come on, H, you don't know that," Flair countered. "For all we know, he's just waiting on Elektra—"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the Nature Boy knew it had been entirely the wrong thing to say. The Game's face flushed a dark mottled red, the expression of hatred twisting his features into something demonic and terrifying. "Elektra, Elektra," he repeating, his voice cruel and mocking. "It's _always_ about his _precious_ Elektra! Well, this shit is going to stop!" The Cerebral Assassin came to a halt, glaring at the Nature Boy. "As _soon_ as he gets here, Ric, I'm going to—"

"Going to what?" The Animal's voice was soft, but laced with just enough of a possible threat to make both men pause. The two remaining members of Evolution turned in surprise to see Batista standing a few feet away, Elektra beside him.

The Animal looked suave, clad in a light gray suit and white shirt. His eyes were covered by a pair of designer sunglasses. But Flair couldn't help but notice—and might even have gotten the Cerebral Assassin to agree—that Batista's best accessory was the silver-eyed Diva at his side.

Elektra wore a long-sleeved minidress made from some white textured material. The deep "V" of the neckline emphasized her cleavage, and the only other accent was a silver link belt. White stiletto boots brought her close to the Animal's height, and her hair was swept simply but elegantly back from her face. The bruise had already faded.

Observing Batista, Flair had to grudgingly admit to himself that the Animal looked like a champion, even more so—and this was the hard part—than Triple H. The Game was fidgeting, restless, sweat already staining the collar of his pressed shirt. In contrast, Batista looked calm, collected, as though nothing could faze him. And with Elektra on his arm, they looked like more than a power couple—they looked like partners, ready to take on their various locker rooms together.

Batista's confident appearance had not escaped the Cerebral Assassin's notice, because the Champion suddenly stopped pacing and straightened up, adjusting his suit jacket, fumbling with his tie.

If the Animal was at all amused by the Game's discomfort, he showed no sign. In fact, there was not a trace of the explosive temper he had possessed in the locker room not twenty-four hours ago, only a Sphinx-like calm. Without waiting for Triple H to explain his interrupted comments, Batista smoothly continued, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose with one hand. "Sorry I'm late; I was discussing something with Bischoff."

The Cerebral Assassin scowled at this and drew himself up to his full height. Unfortunately, it left him still a full inch shorter than Batista. "Oh, really?" he interjected sarcastically. "And what might _that_ be?"

The Animal shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing much…just some unfinished business from last night." His tone was casual, flippant, betraying nothing, but yet it was still enough to have a profound effect on the Champion. The Game stiffened for a second or two, then slowly turned his body around, eyeing Batista with something very near distrust. When he spoke, there was a distinct wariness in his tone that had not been there moments ago. "What _kind_ of _unfinished business_?"

Batista opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open. All four of them turned toward the source of the noise. A headset-wearing technician popped his head in. "They're calling for you down in gorilla; show's about to start." He disappeared just as rapidly as he had entered, probably to avoid becoming the sacrificial message bearer.

Triple H looked from the door back to the Animal, obviously torn between his devotion to the company and his own needling curiosity. Eventually, as was always the case, devotion won out and the Cerebral Assassin stepped toward the door, an action which deliberately brought him face-to-face with Batista. After silently eyeballing his teammate for a long moment, he spoke up, his tone terse and icy. "The _second_ we get back here, I _want _an explanation."

The statement was a useless display of power, and both of them knew it. There was already a clear winner in this battle of wills…and it was not Triple H. Batista didn't reply, but his satisfied smile widened just a little.

The Game's mouth twitched, threatening to warp his sour expression into something infinitely more frightening, but in the next instant, his face became emotionless, betraying nothing beyond dislike. Without tearing his stare from the Animal, he slid his sunglasses over his eyes, shielding the only possible entry into his thoughts. Then, turning sharply on his heel, he stepped around Batista (not knocking into him with his shoulder, like he normally would have done) and out the door, Flair scurrying behind him like an obedient little lap dog.

As soon as the pair had exited, Batista turned toward Elektra, nodding his head in the direction of the doors as if to say _What gives?_

Elektra shrugged, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. The Animal's features relaxed into a warm grin, and he extended his arm to her, the way a gentleman would offer his to a lady. She took it and together, the couple strolled out into the hallway, making only a slight effort to keep up with Triple H and Ric Flair.

* * *

Elektra couldn't help but note the subtle change in the Raw roster's atmosphere as the members of Evolution headed to gorilla. The looks Triple H was getting from passing Superstars still contained the same range of emotions—fear, envy, respect. But what the gray-eyed Diva sensed was something far less overt, kind of like the soft drone of air-conditioning in the background.

It wasn't outrage over how Triple H had eked out a victory last night. By now, the entire locker had made peace with the fact that the Cerebral Assassin would use everything in his arsenal—including Evolution—to win championship gold. No, it was actually more like disdain, because what happened last night couldn't be catalogued as easily in the Game's record of questionable wins. Triple H's ninth title win at Unforgiven…that was a textbook example of the Cerebral Assassin using his ample resources to come out on top. Last night…the Game had just gotten lucky. It was as though up until this point, the locker room had viewed Triple H as some kind of god, but now they realized that he could bleed.

Unlike mortal men, gods don't bleed.

In contrast to the ever-diminishing awe for the Champion, there seemed to be a reluctant but increasing feeling of admiration toward Batista. Reluctant because in their minds, the only thing holding him back from winning his first major title in the WWE was his misplaced sense of loyalty toward Triple H and Evolution.

If only they knew that what they mistook for loyalty was actually patience, waiting for the perfect opportunity, for the perfect configuration of events to align themselves. Or maybe the roster already knew and merely awaited the inevitable battle between titans. Either way, Batista had become the new Superstar of interest in the locker room.

The foursome arrived at gorilla; the World Champion and the Nature Boy taking their place a little behind the black curtain, Batista and Elektra waiting patiently a few feet off to the side. They were just in time, because seconds later, the throbbing rhythm of Union Underground burst out from the arena, mingled with the ecstatic screams of hundreds of fans, who were no doubt holding up their handmade signs and angling for a few precious moments on national television. The music was quickly swallowed by the near-deafening booms of pyrotechnics going off practically over their heads, turning the small space into a chamber of thunderous sounds.

Elektra cringed, covering her ears with both hands. Pyro was something that she had become accustomed to, but never really immune to. Batista glanced down at her fondly, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist and pulling her closer.

There was a momentary lull as the pyro died away, or maybe it was just the absence of thunder. But it was brief, as the unmistakable sound of Triple H's entrance music began to blast, the distinctive rasp of Motorhead's lead singer as he growled _Time to play the game…_

The Cerebral Assassin rolled his shoulders a few times, cracked his neck back and forth, and in an instant, the confidence that had eluded him all evening appeared out of nowhere. Just like that, he had become the swaggering arrogant Champion that everybody loved to hate. Without even pausing to take a deep breath, he stepped through the curtain and out onto the Titantron to the overwhelming chorus of boos and cheers that followed him whenever he arrived at an arena.

Elektra watched him and Flair disappear, feeling slightly awed by the transformation she had just witnessed. As long as she'd known Triple H, she'd always marveled at his ability to command an arena, to go out to the ring and say exactly the right word or phrase to whip the fans into a foaming frenzy. The Game was the best at what he did; even she couldn't deny that.

However, the sound of his music, of Evolution's music, would always transport her back to a time when she had possessed such power, but yet had been completely helpless. Life as Triple H's woman had been not unlike the spectacle the Superstars put on inside the squared circle: everyone saw only the glitter, the flash, the glamour of a privileged life. They never glimpsed the ugliness: the despair of being chained to a man she didn't love, the loneliness, the utter unhappiness she felt waking up in his bed day after day. And Triple H had always been so quick, _so quick_, to remind her that she was nothing without him.

Well, she'd turned the tables on him, hadn't she? Now the ten-time World Heavyweight Champion was nothing without _her_. For once, he needed to keep her safe, to keep her unscathed; otherwise, he would put his title, his dynasty and his physical well-being in danger. Elektra knew that she should be feeling some satisfaction in making the Cerebral Assassin pay for the misery she'd caused her; she had earned that right. So why did she still feel like a traitor?

She knew the answer almost immediately: because she and her ex-lover were nothing alike. Because unlike Triple H, she had been blessed (or cursed) with a conscience.

Out in the arena, the music died away, and Triple H began to talk. Elektra immediately tuned him out. It was the same old speech, the usual claims about his impressive title history, his physical and mental prowess and his lack of respect for the fans. The silver-eyed Diva had heard it a hundred times before in a hundred different venues. She had no desire to make it a hundred and one.

As though he was of the same mind, Batista turned her gently toward him, putting his other hand on her waist. He pulled her against him, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Are you as sick of listening to his bullshit as I am?" he whispered playfully, his breath caressing her cheek.

Elektra tilted her face, resting her cheek against her, her eyes half-closed. This was one of the reasons that she loved Batista. Whenever she was anxious, just a word or a gesture from him was enough to restore her to that elusive state of calm. "You know Hunter; he just loves to gloat, and no matter how tired the fans are of hearing it, he never gets tired of saying it. He's not happy unless he's informing everyone how he's the best."

"Not for long," the Animal answered, and in those three short words, all the warmth went out of his voice. Elektra couldn't prevent a shudder from rippling through her body. She hoped, _prayed_, that Batista would never turn that awful coldness on her. She hoped that Triple H would never give her reason to endure that.

That was the thing that the Game didn't seem to understand: Elektra might be the blackmailer, but by doing so, she was risking Batista's wrath just as much as the Cerebral Assassin was. Or maybe he did understand, better than anybody else. That thought alone was just as chilling.

Elektra forced the notion from her mind before it could take root and begin to fester. She had promised herself last night that she wouldn't dwell on it. Right or wrong, it was in the past now, and letting it kill her still wouldn't change anything.

Instead, she tiptoed up closer to the Animal, her lips grazing his earlobe. "Think we freaked him out back there in the locker room?" she asked lightly, switching to a slightly different topic.

Batista chuckled, the emotion returning to his demeanor. "Hey, just because I 'helped' him win the title doesn't mean I can't keep him on his toes."

"And once he finds out your match doesn't involve him—" Elektra began.

"He'll be so glad his belt's not in danger, he'll even forget to be a pain in the ass," Batista finished. "He'll think that I'm being a _team player_." He made no attempt to keep the sarcasm and the disgust from his voice.

Elektra abruptly drew back from the Animal, her expression pensive all of a sudden. "Dave…" she started, then stopped.

Batista took her face in his hands, tucking a few wayward strands behind her ears. "What is it, baby?" he asked tenderly.

The gray-eyed Diva's eyebrows came together in a small frown as she tried to articulate her thoughts. "I was wondering…tonight, when you were asking for your match…you didn't notice anything weird about Bischoff, did you?"

"You mean, any more than usual?" the Animal joked. "Besides the fact that he was eyeballing you when he thought I wasn't looking?"

Elektra rolled her eyes at the recollection. "Christ…and to think that somewhere out there, there's some poor woman who's actually married to that freak." Her irritation faded. "No…it's just…I don't know exactly what, but…when you asked him for a match against Randy, this…_light_…went on in his eyes, like he'd just discovered the solution to a problem."

"You know Bischoff; he probably saw it as a way to keep asses in the seats." Batista replied, still teasing. His expression finally sobered. "I wouldn't worry about it, baby. Eric's always been dumb, but harmless."

"I know that," Elektra answered. Her features still bore a touch of worry. "But Eric's also been really big on Randy lately—and normally, that wouldn't bother me, except—"

"Orton's a psycho, and the last person he needs on his side is the general manager of Raw." The Animal interjected.

Elektra nodded. "Exactly."

"Listen to me," Batista leaned down close, his mouth next to hers, his voice gentle but also deadly serious. "I don't care if that fucker gets a blessing from Vince McMahon himself; I'm not letting him put a hand on you."

Elektra lifted her lashes, gazing up at him. She could just make out his eyes behind the shades. "I know," she whispered. Memories of that horrible violating kiss between her and Triple H swarmed upward out of nowhere, but she pushed it back with a burst of mental energy. "I know," she repeated, trying not to let it show in her voice.

The two of them fell silent, and from out in the ring, Triple H's voice drifted back to them, filled with pride: "…But there's one man who's far from useless. He's the ultimate team player, the most dominant guy in the Elimination Chamber last night, the man who defeated Chris Benoit _and_ Chris Jericho…_Batista_!"

Elektra grimaced upon hearing the Cerebral Assassin's overdramatics. "The organ grinder's calling," She glanced up at Batista. "Ready to dance?"

The Animal laughed and said something in reply, but it was drowned out by the roaring guitar riffs of his entrance theme. The vibrations of music traveled up Elektra's spine, filling her with a heady rush of excitement and adrenaline. She took a deep breath, clearing everything else from her mind.

Taking her by the hand and leading her to the curtain, Batista pushed it aside, allowing the pair to step out onto the top of the Titantron.

For the first few moments, Elektra was overwhelmed by the light and sound filling the Fort Lauderdale arena. She wanted to take several seconds just to stop and drink it all in, but that was impossible. Her job was to keep smiling and walking like this happened every day. Which it did, but that didn't mean she wasn't floored by the feeling every time she stepped out here.

The Animal let go of her hand, traveling to the left hand side of the ramp to crouch down into his usual pose. Elektra watched him from the other side, one hand on her hip. When he straightened back up, Batista turned toward her, extending his hand, which she accepted. With a suddenness that surprised her, the Animal pulled her to him, capturing her mouth in a quick but intense kiss. When he drew back, Elektra had to force her legs to keep moving, lest they give out beneath her. This little display of affection was only one of the many things that Batista did whenever she walked out with him. It was his way of showing that their relationship meant the same thing to him whenever the cameras were rolling as it did when they were alone. It was also something that was guaranteed, no exceptions, to piss off Triple H.

However, when Elektra looked ahead toward the ring, clasping Batista's hand, she saw nothing but praise on the face of the World Champion. Both he and Flair were giving the Animal a hardy show of applause…and they were not the only ones. In fact, the majority of the arena was cheering for Batista. Peering surreptiously out of the corners of her eyes, Elektra noticed a few "Batista" and "The Animal" signs. Not a lot, but certainly more than one.

So it seemed that the fans were just as cognizant of what had transpired in the Chamber last night as the locker room. Of course, WWE fans never missed anything.

The two of them reached the ring, Batista allowing Elektra to ascend the steps and slip between the ropes first. He followed her, immediately gravitating toward the center to accept hugs from Flair and Triple H. Elektra hung back, wondering if she was the only one to notice the reluctance with which the Animal embraced the Cerebral Assassin. The two men drew apart, and the Game grabbed Batista's wrist, raising both their arms into the air. He had just raised his other hand to speak into the microphone when a new entrance theme burst through the speakers, one which sent the audience leaping back to their feet.

Randy Orton's theme.

Instantly, Elektra felt something clench deep inside her abdomen, and her knees locked. She stared dumbly as the Legend Killer walked out, halting at the top of the ramp. The Animal noticed her discomfort and pulled away from Triple H, heading over to wrap both arms around her waist. The silver-eyed Diva placed her hands over his, leaning back against his chest. Her stomach eventually loosened up, but her heartbeat was still pounding in her ears.

Luckily, Orton seemed to take no notice of her or Batista. In fact, all of his attention was on the World Champion. Or more importantly, on the World Heavyweight Championship.

The Game stepped forward, his face lit up with a cocky grin. He lifted the mic to his lips. "Look, guys," he remarked tauntingly. "It's the _Legend Killer_!"

Elektra forced herself to smile, even though she wanted to throw up. She was pretty sure that Batista was doing the same. A few feet away, she heard Flair cackling with laughter.

The Cerebral Assassin continued. "Hate to break it to you, Randy, but this--this has nothing to do with you. You see, this is a _celebration_. This is for _winners_. And since you're a _loser_, you obviously don't belong." His grin became chilly. "I beat your ass last night, 1…2…3."

"Is that right?" Orton retorted. There was something about his expression, about his voice, that Elektra didn't like. There was anger…but also a sort of sly cunning. And from the way he was standing, there was an air of eager anticipation about him. The Legend Killer was bold, but he wasn't stupid. Like Triple H, he wouldn't have come out here unless he had a game plan already in place. Orton went on. "Triple H, last night, you only beat me with Batista's help—" The audience roared in indignation, and he paused, letting them vent. "—_After_ Batista had been eliminated!" he added.

_Aren't you leaving out part of the story?_ Elektra thought furiously to herself. _How about how you attacked me in the hallway? How about how you sold your soul to Triple H and tried to end Dave's career? I bet these fans would love to hear that._ For a heartbeat, she almost broke free of Batista's embrace, wanting to storm up to those ropes and scream out Orton's laundry list of transgressions. But she managed to grab hold of herself before she could. It wouldn't accomplish anything, and besides, Orton was going to get his comeuppance tonight; Eric Bischoff had made it official.

As she did, another thought crept into her mind, unformed and nebulous. Little things about tonight began to come together: Batista's match against Randy, the look in Bischoff's beady little eyes, the fact that Orton had chosen _this_ moment to confront Evolution. Something was going on, something bigger than all of them. But the realization, the final image, eluded her, hanging tantalizingly just outside the reaches of her consciousness.

"In fact," Orton was still talking. "I brought some footage here with me; footage that proves that while Batista had _your_ back, you didn't have _his_!"

"What footage?" Triple H interrupted. If he was at all concerned, his voice wasn't betraying it.

Orton smiled, a tight hard smile. Elektra felt something inside her stumble and fall into the abyss. Her only consolation was that she was not the recipient of that awful grin. "The footage is from last night at New Year's Revolution," he explained, his eyes never wavering from the World Heavyweight Champion. "And when I roll it, everyone here will be able to see how you had the opportunity to save the Animal when I had him pinned following the RKO—and you did _nothing_."

"Listen," Elektra caught the first note of backpedaling in Triple H's voice, and tried hard not to smile. She had witnessed first-hand what the Game had done—or rather, not done—in the Chamber last night. It was not the least of his sins, but it still would be intriguing to see how he would try and spin it. She turned her head toward the Cerebral Assassin. The Game continued, pushing his sunglasses back up onto his head as he spoke. "All we're going to see in that footage is you _cheating_ with a low blow." He cast a cursory glance in the Animal's direction. "This is bullcrap," he added. "We should just leave right now—"

While he spoke, Batista silently withdrew his embrace, stepping back from Elektra. When Triple H mentioned leaving, the Animal rapidly closed the distance between them, covering the mic with one hand and shaking his head, saying something in a low voice. Elektra watched the Cerebral Assassin's reaction with utter amusement. The World Champion was trying to protest without managing to look culpable. He was not doing a good job, and apparently an even poorer one in convincing the Animal, because now Batista had the mic. "Go on, Randy," the Animal spoke, belying none of the animosity or the loathing that he must be feeling at the very sight of the Legend Killer. "Roll it; I want to see this footage."

Orton turned back toward the huge screen at the top of the Titantron. "You heard him, roll the footage!" he bellowed. Almost immediately, an image flashed up on the screen. Elektra saw Batista and Orton inside the Chamber, Triple H leaning against the turnbuckle post. She even saw herself pressed against the side of the cage. She didn't need to watch the events; she had lived them. Instead, she focused on watching the reactions of everyone else in the ring. Flair gazed up at the video with a puzzled expression on his lined face. Batista's back was to her, so she couldn't gauge his response. And Triple H…well, there were only two words that could describe the look on his face.

_Oh shit_.

As soon as it ended, Batista turned toward Triple H, removing his sunglasses and staring hard at the Game. Elektra quickly walked over, putting her hand gently on his wrist, fixing her pale eyes on the World Champion as well. The Cerebral Assassin looked back at both of them, his expression betraying nothing, but his eyes betraying everything. Slowly, hesitantly, he raised the mic to his mouth. "I can explain…" he began, then stopped, obviously searching for just the right thing to say, something that would take the blame off him, put it back on Orton, and placate the Animal all at the same time. When he did speak, his voice was just a bit too fast and a bit too forced. "You have to understand, I was in that match for forty five minutes. I was physically drained—"

"You know, what, Hunter?" Orton interrupted from his spot on the ramp. "Save it. I don't buy it, this audience doesn't buy it, and I'm pretty sure that Dave here doesn't buy it. So let me make it simple for you." He paused for emphasis. "You screwed me last night. I want…no, I _demand_ a rematch for that World Heavyweight Title _tonight_!"

The fans burst into cheers and gasps at this. Before Triple H could get back on the mic and toss off a retort, however, Eric Bischoff's music came crashing through the speakers. Boos filled the arena as the Raw General Manager came sauntering out to stand next to Randy.

A sliver of dread coursed through Elektra's body at the sight of Bischoff and Orton next together. To the arena, it was nothing, but to her…it was her worst nightmare. If Randy had joined forces with Eric Bischoff, being part of Evolution would not save her this time. But somehow--she wasn't sure how--she managed to put aside her fear. Bischoff's beef was with Triple H more than Evolution. Besides, Orton couldn't touch her, not unless he wanted to find himself sans limbs.

"I agree!" Bischoff crowed, his expression smug. He pointed at Triple H. "Last week on Raw, Randy Orton beat you. Last night, he survived four other men in the Elimination Chamber before you pinned him with the help of Evolution. As far as _I'm _concerned…" He glanced over at Orton before focusing back on the Game. "Randy Orton deserves to face Triple H for the World Heavyweight Title."

"You forget, Eric," The Cerebral Assassin's voice was angry, but also bordering on desperate. "Randy and I made a bet; a bet which _he _lost. As long as I'm Champion, he doesn't get a shot—"

But the GM was already waving this technicality aside with his hand. "New title reign, new year…end of story."

"Do you have _any_ idea how the _hell_ I am?" Now Triple H was furious. "I'm the—"

"I wasn't finished!" Bischoff snapped, his cool demeanor slipping for a second. "I've watched that footage, and after seeing it, I believe that Batista deserves a shot at the title as well!"

At this, Elektra gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. She had always known that Batista would get a second chance, but she hadn't imagined it would come so soon. She was afraid to look at the Animal, afraid that she had just imagined it. But then, she felt his hand grasp hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and she knew that this was just as much a shock to him as it was to her.

"Now," Bischoff was really warming up, slipping into that car-salesman mode of speaking he favored. "I seem to have a problem; a problem which I'd like to solve." He pointed toward the Animal. "Earlier tonight, Batista came into my office and demanded a match against Randy Orton _tonight_. Given what's just transpired, I see no reason to cancel that match. Instead, I'm going to up the ante." The General Manager smiled. "Tonight, Raw's main event will be _Randy Orton_ versus _Batista_ in a _Number One Contender's Match_ for the _World Heavyweight Title_!"

He dropped the mic back down to his side as his music hit, easing back and exiting as subtly as he had entered.

The arena was electric; Elektra could barely hear anything above the blaring music and the screaming fans. Her thoughts were bouncing around her mind so quickly that she could hardly keep up. She couldn't believe that Randy Orton would somehow be indirectly responsible for securing a possible title shot for the Animal. If Batista won tonight...he would not only eliminate the threat of the Legend Killer, but he would also get another opportunity to show Triple H that he was the better Superstar.

And Elektra? She now had the chance to make up for last night. Her actions had cost Batista the World Title, and if that wasn't bad enough, she had stooped to bargaining with the Game. If Batista pulled out a victory, she would be able to forget the mistakes she had made, the ugly deals she had struck. She would be free.

Tonight, Batista would be seeking vengeance...while she would be seeking redemption.


	45. Chapter 45: Number One Contender

**A/N: Geez of Pete, sorry about the long delay. I have been swamped with so much crap! To all of you who are thinking of going to grad school one day...totally do it, but the application process is a bitch. Anyway, apologies for the wait, and I promise I will try and post them faster after this. If any of you want to send your thoughts in the form of a review (hint hint!), that would be greatly appreciated. I'm off to do some reviewing of my own!**

**As always, read, enjoy, and hopefully review! Peace!**

* * *

Chapter 45: Number One Contender

Elektra meticulously lined up the bottles and containers occupying the top cubbyhole, straightening them so they all faced forward. It was a little obsessive compulsive trait of hers, one that usually only manifested itself in moments of anxiety. It was probably also better than biting her nails or wringing her hands; both of which she would probably be doing if she wasn't finding some way to release her body's energy. At least this made her feel useful.

The number one contender's match was still in her mind, as it had been ever since Eric Bischoff had spoken those few fateful words to make it official. By now, however, all of its ramifications and consequences and potential outcomes had run through her brain in a never-ending loop, over and over again, until they had blurred together in the background of her consciousness. It had become a kind of white noise: not really there, but at the same time, always present.

Right now, though, all of her conscious thoughts were focused around one man, but not Randy Orton, and not even—strangely enough—Batista.

It was Triple H.

Elektra felt nothing but self-loathing for allowing the Cerebral Assassin to exert so much influence over her, whether or not he was actually aware of it. But it wasn't anything that she could help. After everything she had done to break free of him, in the end, she had been the one who had gone back to him. That fact, that moment of realization, sickened her more than anything he had said or done. She was in a relationship with the Game once again. A twisted semi-symbiotic one, but a relationship nonetheless. In their own way, they both needed each other, and this arrangement between them—so simple in theory—had become a precariously balanced house of cards.

Elektra knew, with a sense of dreadful understanding, that there was always a chance that Triple H's hatred—a feeling which knew no bounds when it came to her—could engulf them both. True, the Cerebral Assassin would never willingly sacrifice himself if there was someone he could throw under the bus first, but Elektra had come to believe that those rules could no longer be applied. The Game never forgot a slight, no matter how small, and he had always viewed Elektra's relationship with the Animal as the world's largest "fuck you", no pun intended.

Try as she might, she couldn't discount the possibility that Triple H would forfeit his own well-being in order to destroy her. Because even without his faction, even without his _title_, the Cerebral Assassin would endure. Elektra, on the other hand…without Batista, she had nothing, and the Game knew it as well as she did.

Elektra shuddered. A few months ago, she would have been able to predict Triple H, but now…His sanity had been slipping a little bit each day, ever since he had blasted the Animal in the face with a chair. Just the fact that he had _gone_ to her _house_—Elektra closed her eyes as a wave of nausea slammed into her, threatening to knock her over.

Even when he had filled her with terror, even when he had stolen her happiness, Elektra had endured it, knowing that she still had one place where he couldn't touch her. One place where she could feel whatever she wanted to feel and not worry about him finding out. But now the Game had taken that too from her with a few words, casually tossed off, as though he was commenting on the weather.

She still didn't know how he had found out; not that it really mattered. Triple H had resources available at his fingertips that she could only guess at. And while she had been at home, thinking she was finally free of him, he had been there as well, making sure that there was no place she could go where he wouldn't find her. Had he seen her and Batista kissing in the falling snow? Had he been sitting in his car down the street, out of the glare of the streetlamps, watching the two of them with an expression far too terrifying to be considered human?

Elektra knew that continuing down this particular train of thought would only drive her crazy, but she couldn't stop herself. What the Cerebral Assassin had done…it made all her other threats pale in comparison. Instead of attacking her person, he had gone after something infinitely more primal. He had attacked her peace of mind, her sense of security—the very feelings that had drove her to seek him out in the first place.

Ironic how events had a way in inverting themselves.

Elektra turned her body slightly, gazing over at Batista. The Animal was at the edge of a bench a few feet away. His back was to her; he was preoccupied with adjusting his elbow and knee pads. The gray-eyed Diva's expression became wistful, almost sad.

She had no doubt that the mysterious bouquet the Game had left on her doorstep (and she had no reason to disbelieve this claim) had been disposed of by Batista. Whatever it was, she had failed to notice it, but he hadn't. The Animal had seen it for what it truly was—yet another one of Triple H's subtle threats—and had gotten rid of it.

And in all that time since then, he had never said a word about it. Not to Triple H…and not to her.

Elektra closed her eyes, turning back toward the shelves. She knew that she should feel grateful for what he had done, and she did. But it was a complex sensation, the gratitude itself muddled by a number of other emotions, one of them being doubt. Elektra didn't acknowledge these feelings; whenever she tried to probe deeper into why she felt this way, the phrase _Why didn't he tell me?_ kept popping into her mind. And then the guilt would kick in, as she realized that she was doing the same thing to him.

No matter what her feelings were, Elektra couldn't judge Batista for what he had done. To do so would have been nothing short of hypocritical. The Animal had done what he thought was right. Just like her, he had made a judgment call, and in the end, his only thought had been protecting her.

_We all have our own burdens to bear…_Elektra thought to herself. _We all have our little secrets that we keep, and we tell ourselves that it's for the right reasons._

_But what if we're wrong_?

The silver-eyed Diva took a deep breath, pushing all of those thoughts from her brain, concentrating on nothing else except the sensation of air flowing into her lungs. Letting it out, she opened her eyes, turning back toward Batista. With slow, almost cautious steps, she walked over to him, bending down behind him and resting her hands on his shoulders. She let them slide down over his broad chest, leaning down even further to press her lips against the curve of his ear. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey yourself," the Animal answered, his voice gentle. Taking hold of her wrist, he tugged, pulling the gray-eyed Diva around in front of him. Hiking her already-short skirt up just a little bit higher, she hoisted one long leg over both of his, easing herself down into a sitting position straddling his lap. The simple movement would have been seductive and might have led to something more if Batista hadn't seen the troubled expression marring his girlfriend's lovely face. "What's wrong, baby?" he murmured.

Elektra glanced up at him, her large eyes liquid. "Dave, I'm worried—" she began, then stopped.

"About Orton?" Batista asked. He put his hands on her waist, anchoring her more firmly. "Baby, when I'm done with him, even the Women's Division won't want him." His voice dropped in volume but not in menace. "Randy Orton is a dead man."

"It's not _Randy_ I'm worried out, it's _you_!" Elektra's outburst was so unexpected that it stunned the Animal into silence. The gray-eyed Diva reached up, putting both hands on the back of his neck, needing that simple contact to continue. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, Randy Orton is a cowardly piece of shit. But he _knows_ you, Dave. You rode with him for a year and a half, and he knows you as well as you know him. He _knows_ that if he wants to beat you, all he has to do is get you mad."

Elektra looked down as she spoke. "Orton's not stupid; I think he knows that you asked for this match because of what happened to me. He's probably thinking that all he has to do is leer in my general direction and you'll go off on him." She smiled; a thin bitter smile. "And normally, I wouldn't care—except that thanks to Bischoff, this match is for something bigger than you or me." Her smile faded. Elektra looked up again, and put her hands on either side of the Animal's face. "Make Randy pay for what he did…but don't let him make this about me."

For a few moments, Batista didn't answer, then he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "You're right," he replied. "You're right—I can't let him make this about you. I let him take one title shot away from me; I'm not letting him take away two." He pulled back a little, gazing into her eyes. "But baby, I have to be honest…if it were up to me, I'd break every bone in his body."

"If it were up to me," Elektra answered. "I'd let you."

Instead of replying, the Animal wrapped both arms around her body, embracing her tightly. He inhaled her scent, feeling the warmth of her skin radiating up through the fabric of her dress. Closing his eyes, he silently thanked the heavens for allowing something so perfect to become a part of his life. Their connection…it went deeper than words could describe. Elektra was more than just his girlfriend, more than just the love of his life—she was _his_, period. Just as he was hers.

"Ahem." The sullen interruption jarred both of them back to the present. The couple drew apart, turning to look at the figures of Triple H and Ric Flair.

Unlike last night, there was nothing suggestive about the Cerebral Assassin's expression. His features bore the more customary countenance of disgust, but there was something subdued about the emotion this time. The Game knew that his actions from the previous night, combined with the footage from the Elimination Chamber, had placed him on uneasy terms with Batista. The last thing he needed was to spark off the Animal's explosive temper by displaying any genuine emotion.

Triple H stepped forward, his sunglasses still perched on the top of his head. He scratched the side of his nose, then cleared his throat a second time. "Listen…" he began. "I know that things got a little heated out there, and I just wanted to say that…despite the footage on that tape, despite what that bastard Orton said, I want you to know that you have my full support in tonight's match."

Elektra couldn't miss the near pleading tone to his voice. There was still confidence in the Cerebral Assassin—when wasn't there?—but it was stretched so thin that it couldn't mask the desperation beneath it. This match was the last thing that the Game wanted, because really, he was screwed either way.

Triple H went on. "Dave, you and I—we've had our differences in the past, but I would consider it an honor to defend the World Heavyweight Championship against _you_." His voice held a distinct lack of conviction. No wonder; Elektra knew pure bullshit when she heard it. The Cerebral Assassin might as well have been reading from a script.

Batista didn't respond at first; just took one of Elektra's hands in his, squeezing it reassuringly. Finally, he looked back at the Game. "You really mean that, Hunter?" he remarked with only a modicum of sarcasm. Elektra bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to smile.

If Triple H had picked up on it as well, though, he wasn't showing it. In fact, he actually seemed a little relieved. This relief was evident in his words, which tumbled out over one another: "Absolutely, man."

Batista turned his attention back to Elektra, leaning in to gently kiss her cheek. "Baby, could you go outside for a second?" he asked. "I'll join you soon, all right?"

By now, Elektra was thoroughly enjoying watching Triple H dig himself into a hole, but rather than protest, she merely answered. "Sure thing." and eased herself off his lap. She strolled toward the door and just as she was about to pass the Cerebral Assassin, she shot her silvery gaze over, catching his eyes. In that tiny instant, her lips curved upward in a small satisfied smile. She saw the bright spark of hatred flare up in his eyes and quickly flicked her gaze away, moving past him and exiting the room.

The silver-eyed Diva might not have seen the expression of intense dislike that crossed the Game's face, but when the World Champion glanced back, he saw (with some annoyance) that the Animal had.

Batista now rose to his feet bringing up his massive hands to crack his knuckles one by one. His expression was neutral, but there was a warning lurking in his dark eyes. "You checking out my girl?" he asked lightly, his voice a mixture of amusement and something unpleasant.

Instantly, Triple H tensed, as though preparing for an oncoming blow. "_No_." he retorted indignantly, his tone betraying only a little trepidation. "I—"

The Animal's face eased into a grin. "Relax, Hunter, I'm just messing with you," he replied. He stepped closer, enjoying the sight of the Cerebral Assassin taking an involuntary step back. Batista's expression sobered a little. "But seriously, though, about what you just said…I mean, last night, you were pretty much ready to give me the boot—"

This time, the Game laughed, but all of the confidence he could muster couldn't hide the nervousness hovering on the fringes of his demeanor. "Yeah…about last night…I mean, I was exhausted, I'd just been through one helluva match, I was pissed off—" He laughed again, and this time, the sound was damn near manic. "You know me, Dave—I say a lot of things I don't mean."

"Yeah, you're right, Hunter," the Animal replied, his tone cool. He fixed the World Champion with an unreadable expression. "You _do_ say a lot of things that you don't mean."

The meaning behind his words was not lost on Triple H; his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. There was a keen awareness in his eyes now; a realization that he was standing in the center of a frozen pond and had just heard the first crack of the ice breaking. Batista could practically see the wheels turning in his head, as he tried to figure out the best way to sidle back to solid ground.

"Look, Dave, I know I've said some things in the past—about you, about…Elektra—and I can understand why you'd be so upset." Only the Animal caught the hesitation just before he spoke Elektra's name. The Cerebral Assassin closed the distance between them, clapping Batista on the shoulder affectionately. "But I was serious about your match tonight, man. Orton turned his back on me a long time ago, but _you_…you've stuck by me. You've _earned_ this title shot, Dave. You _deserve_ it." He stopped talking, but kept his hand on the Animal's shoulder.

Batista turned his head, staring hard at the Game, who eventually pulled his hand away. The Animal smiled suddenly, the stoniness disappearing from his face. "You're right, Hunter; I _do_ deserve this, and tonight, I'm gonna beat Orton and get my title shot. You know why?"

He leaned closed, lowering his voice, his eyes never leaving Triple H's. "Because sooner or later, _we all get what we deserve_."

Silence followed those five words. Triple H didn't move; only stared back at him, as though breaking eye contact now would imply some kind of weakness. The Animal was the one to break it, turning away and heading for the door. But there was no weakness in his posture. He had won this battle, and both of them knew it. "I'm stopping by the trainer's and then heading off to gorilla," he called out, his tone almost cheerful. There was the sound of the door opening and closing and Batista was gone.

The Cerebral Assassin's eyes narrowed; the hand steadying the World Heavyweight Championship gripped the belt until the engraved metal dug into his palm. "Son of a bitch…" he muttered to himself.

"You say something, Champ?" Flair asked from somewhere behind him.

The Game grimaced. He had forgotten that Flair was still here. However, when he turned around to face the Nature Boy, there was nothing but assurance in his expression. "Just thinking out loud, Naitch. Listen—" He moved closer to Flair, bending down and putting his arm around the older man's shoulders. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I want you to have a little talk with Dave."

The Nature Boy's face clouded with worry. "H, if this is about what he said—"

Triple H dismissed this notion with a small wave of his hand. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm just getting this feeling that Batista is leaning toward Orton's side. Now, I don't think they're going to join forces or anything; those guys hate each other. But I'm afraid that Randy's going to goad Batista into making a stupid decision. " He stared hard at Flair. "In case you haven't figured out, this could be bad, not just for Evolution, but for Dave as well. The Animal…he's the future of our business, Ric. He's _going_ to be Champion one of these days. To have that shit-for-brains Orton lure him away before he's had a chance to reach his full potential—it could be disastrous to his _career_. Do you really want Dave to end up like Randy—scrounging around at the bottom of the roster like a rat?"

The Cerebral Assassin paused for breath, but quickly rushed on before Flair had a chance to respond. "Of course you don't. _I_ certainly don't. Which is why I'm worried about tonight's match. I don't think Dave realizes just how big of an opportunity this is. He's acting way too calm for someone who's about to get a title shot."

The Game gestured with his free hand. "I need to feel the energy coming from the Animal in this match tonight. I need to be sure that he's going to go for it full steam ahead." He had been staring off into the distance; now he glanced back at the Nature Boy. "That's where you come in, Ric. I need you to go motivate him. Tell him…" Triple H hesitated for several seconds as a broad smile crept across his face. "No, _remind_ him that his track record against Orton hasn't been all that great."

The expression on Flair's face was one of incredulity. "Are you _insane_?" he hissed. "You two were at each other's throats twenty-four hours ago; now you want to go and stir things up again with a comment like that?"

"It's called negative reinforcement, Naitch," the Cerebral Assassin replied smoothly, his face the calmest it had been the entire evening. "And trust me, that's _exactly_ what Batista needs right now."

Flair, understandably, still looked skeptical. As the messenger, he was the one more likely to get his head knocked off first. "You know, H?" he finally said. "You're my friend and I respect you, man, but I'm telling you: I don't think this is the best way to go with Big Dave. After the way we unloaded on him last night—I think he's wondering if we're even going to support him out there."

"Of _course_ we're going to support him," the Game interrupted, his tone even. "We're a _team_; we're _Evolution_. And as Evolution's leader…I think I know what's best for its members." He patted the Nature Boy on the shoulder. "So go find Dave, tell him what I told you, and above all, _don't worry about it_: it's going to work." His grin widened, becoming Cheshire Cat-like. "C'mon, Ric, would I lie to you?"

The next several seconds passed without a reply from Flair. Eventually, he sighed in resignation, rolled his eyes heavenward, and spun around smartly on his heel, pushing the door open with the side of his fist and practically stomping out into the hall.

The moment the Nature Boy was out of eyeshot, Triple H's mouth twisted downward in a scowl. Good. This little errand would at the very least embroil Flair in a heated "discussion" with the Animal. Giving him plenty of time to deal with a few loose ends.

The Cerebral Assassin stalked over to the sitting area, sinking down into one of the easy chairs and rubbing his forehead with one hand. So far, things were progressing smoothly, but that could change at any moment. Batista seemed determined to be difficult tonight, and Elektra…well, she was just begging to get smacked in the mouth. The Game had not arrived in Fort Lauderdale expecting to do business, but it appeared that he would be forced to this evening, thanks to the two of them.

Triple H actually found himself wishing that he had a match-up tonight. At this point, there was nothing he'd enjoy more than pulling out his trusty sledgehammer and causing a little bloodshed. Maybe that would soothe the pounding in his skull.

There was a knock at the door; three sharp precise raps.

"Come in," the Cerebral Assassin called out, making no attempt whatsoever to put any kind of welcoming into his voice. He heard the door open, followed by the sound of bootsteps on the concrete floor. The Game didn't bother to look up, but jabbed his thumb toward the adjacent chair. "Have a seat." Only when Randy Orton eased himself into the leather seat did Triple H look up.

"Did anyone see you?" he asked. He was already pretty sure of what the answer would be, but it never hurt to make sure.

Orton shot him a pitying look. "Of course not. What do you think I am, stupid?" Triple H was tempting to answer in the affirmative, but kept his mouth shut. The Legend Killer leaned back, still staring at the World Champion. "I got your message; this better be good," he remarked. "I'm getting a little tired of solving your problems."

The Cerebral Assassin didn't answer. For a long while, the two Superstars sat there, silently eying each other. A tiny smug smile gradually blossomed on Orton's face; the Game was still glaring back at him. Finally, the World Heavyweight Champion stood, moving over to the Legend Killer, not even bothering to set aside his precious title gold. He stared down at Orton, who met his gaze without flinching.

Without warning, Triple H curled his free hand into a fist, swinging it up and catching the Legend Killer under the chin in a perfect uppercut. A surprised grunt escaped Orton's mouth and he fell backward, his momentum tipping the chair over and sending him somersaulting into the shelves. The Legend Killer came to an ungainly halt in a pile of long arms and legs, clutching his mouth with one hand.

"_Fuck_! What the hell, man?" he exclaimed angrily, his voice muffled. His blue eyes were burning embers of hatred. "What the hell—you call me back here just to sucker punch me? What's your fucking problem?"

"Oh, I don't know; _pick something_!" the Cerebral Assassin roared, his stare just as fiery. "How about last night when you tried to fuck me over? Or—better yet—how about an hour ago?" The Game began to pace, grabbing his chin with his hand. "You little _shit_—we had a deal last night, remember? You eliminate the Animal, I give you a title shot. But no, you had to bring Eric fucking Bischoff into it. The fucking GM!"

"Get off your goddamn pedestal!" Orton shot back, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Quit acting so self-righteous! You had to _cheat_ to win that title, remember? And as for our so-called 'deal'…the only _deal_ I saw you honoring was the one we made before Survivor Series. You know, the one where I don't get a shot as long as you're champion? Oh, you were so quick to pull _that_ one out of your ass when Bischoff mentioned my name, weren't you?"

The Legend Killer grinned up at Triple H, wiping a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "You really think that I'd be stupid enough to trust you? I _know_ you, Hunter; I knew the second you agreed to that deal that you'd try and back out of it. So, yeah, I went to Bischoff. And because of that, I finally got my fucking title shot. And not you, or the rest of Evolution, can take it away this time." He stared up at the Game defiantly, as though expecting his assertion to be challenged.

"Not so fast," Triple H interjected. "_First_, you have to go through the Animal." His expression darkened with rage. "_Speaking _of which, when I say take someone out, I don't mean hit them in the fun bag and get a quick pin cover; I mean fucking _destroy_ them. I wanted Batista _gone_; not walking around here, pissing me off and gunning for _my_ title."

"Aww, poor baby," Orton drawled derisively, getting back to his feet.

"I'd take this seriously if I were you," the Cerebral Assassin interrupted, his voice filled with deadly menace. "_You're_ the one he's pissed at right now—all because you couldn't keep your hands off his cunt girlfriend."

The Legend Killer jammed his finger into his ear, wiggling it around. "Sorry," he replied sarcastically. "I must have had something in my ear because I don't think I heard you right. Are—are you actually _admonishing_ me for what I did to her?" Orton looked around, his handsome features filled with astonishment and anger. "_This_ coming from the same guy who told me to go find her and—quote—'have a little fun'. The same guy who was _so sure_ that Batista had broken up with her, he actually threw me out for trying to tell him the truth." Orton stepped closer, getting right in the Game's face. "Last night, you were _begging_ for my help. Now—you're ready to make me the scapegoat all over again. As far as I'm concerned, whatever problems you have right now, it's your own damn fault." The Legend Killer shook his head. "This is bullshit. I'm outta here."

"_Sit down_." Triple H's tone was frigid and terse. He pointed toward the upended chair.

Orton's azure irises narrowed to small slits. "I'm not in Evolution anymore, Hunter. You can't just order me around."

"Fine, just stand there then!" the Cerebral Assassin snapped. "But unless you want to lose your match tonight, I _suggest_ you let me finish."

His last statement was enough to give the Legend Killer pause. Orton grew still, his face closing down into an emotionless mask. After a handful of seconds, he backed up, leaning against the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Game continued. "Now, I don't like you and I know you don't like me. But I think there's one thing that we both hate, and that's seeing Dave Batista go after this title." Orton didn't answer; only nodded curtly. "Unfortunately, I can't do anything about it. The whore has my nuts in a bind." The Legend Killer's response this time was to raise both eyebrows questioningly.

Triple H sighed, his expression pained. "She's blackmailing me. That _bitch_ is blackmailing me. If I do anything that she considers a threat…she's blabbing everything to Dave, _including_ the little deal that you and I made." He looked back at Orton, who was making an obvious attempt not to laugh. "Oh, don't even start with me! This isn't funny!"

"Sorry," the Legend Killer answered, chuckling. "Just trying to remember the last time you were stupid enough to let yourself get blackmailed by a worthless little Diva. Oh, yeah, that's right—_never_."

The Cerebral Assassin scowled. "Very funny; I wouldn't even be in this predicament if it wasn't for you and your big mouth."

"Want me to deal with her?" Orton's voice would have been casual if not for the total lack of emotion behind his words. In an instant, his expression had gone from amused to cold.

The Game stared at him with more than a little alarm. "No, I do _not_ want you to deal with her! She made it very clear; I'm not the only one who can't lay a hand on her. Her ultimatum—it applies to you too."

"How cute." Orton practically spat out the words. "And tell me again exactly _why_ I should care? In fact…" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Tell me why I shouldn't just let the Animal beat the living fuck out of you for trying to end his career?"

Triple H took a step forward, a light of sly satisfaction in his eyes. "Let me ask you a question, Randy: which do you hate more? Seeing _your_ title on _my_ shoulder—" He paused for effect. "Or around Dave Batista's waist?"

The Legend Killer lowered his head, the corner of his lip curling upward. His eyes were searing laser beams of blue. When he did speak, his voice was filled with tightly controlled hatred. "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

Ric Flair made his way slowly, leisurely, up the hallway, as though nothing was important enough to rush the legendary Nature Boy. His deeply lined face was a portrait of impassivity, his inner feelings evidenced only by the concern in his eyes. He kept his gaze straight ahead, not out of arrogance, but to keep himself from becoming sidetracked. 

The Nature Boy was calm, but it was that desperate sort of calm, the kind that comes right before panic sets in.

He had hoped that he'd never arrive at this conclusion, but after his last exchange with the World Heavyweight Champion, he had no choice. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Triple H was losing his grip on reality.

It didn't matter that the Cerebral Assassin was champion again. The man Flair had left behind in that locker room was a far cry from the champion he had known several months ago. The Game had this nervous air about him now, like the king forced to sit beneath a precariously hanging sword. Gone was his confidence, replaced only by paranoia.

And not even Flair had failed to notice the ever-growing light of madness in his eyes, a madness which burned especially bright—Flair almost shuddered as he thought of this—whenever his gaze fastened on Elektra.

The Nature Boy still didn't know what exactly drove Triple H to hate the gray-eyed Diva as much as he did. Maybe it was a warped sense of jealousy—or maybe it was the fact that no matter what the Cerebral Assassin did to put Elektra down; like his worst enemies, she just kept coming back, kept surviving whatever obstacles he laid in front of her.

Not that Flair condoned anything that had befallen Elektra at the hands of the Game. Thirty-odd years in the business might have given him a skewed sense of honor and loyalty, but all those years of experience could not produce a single justification for why a helpless young woman should be treated like a human punching bag.

The Animal's voice rumbled in his head, the tone reproachful. _Where were you, Ric, when he was beating the shit out of her_?

The Nature Boy could still recall that night with awful clarity. How he had stood backstage in front of a monitor, watching Triple H punish Elektra, his insides churning with abject horror. He knew it was wrong; had wanted to help her. But yet, he'd done nothing, and to this day, he still couldn't figure out why. Some nights, he'd lie awake, searching for a reason that constantly eluded him.

If it were up to him, if he could jump in a time machine and go back, he would have sent Elektra packing the second she walked into Evolution's locker room. He had known almost from the start that she'd be trouble. He'd seen the way that Batista—and Orton—would stare at her when they thought no one else was watching. But again, he'd done nothing to stop it, had just...let it happen.

The Legend Killer had never really been a problem; his actions were driven by lust, and lust inevitably burned itself out. But the Animal—he was driven by something deeper than physical attraction. Orton would eventually back down, but not Batista. He would protect Elektra regardless of who it affected. It was this need to protect her, to _love _her, that was putting him on the path to war with Triple H.

Flair sighed. He did not want war. He was getting too damn old for this shit, and the last thing he wanted at this stage in his career was a power struggle within his own faction. Unfortunately, conflict between the Cerebral Assassin and the Animal was bound to happen, and Elektra had just sped up the process. So the only thing Flair could really do was delay the inevitable for as long as he possibly could.

And that meant avoiding strife whenever possible. The Nature Boy was not an idiot; he knew that reminding Batista of his previous losses against Orton was not going to provide him with motivation. If anything, it would send his temper into overdrive, increasing the chances that Orton would end up winning because of a DQ caused by the Animal. So instead of delivering the message, Flair headed down to gorilla, chatted with some of the road agents, talked for a while about the good old days, and then headed back. His story was already in place, and the Nature Boy was a master at lying convincingly.

He had just reached the Evolution locker room, his hand on the doorknob, when he stopped, frowning. He had left the Game alone; now there were _two_ voices emanating from the interior. Flair shuffled forward silently, pressing his ear against the door. He could have just turned the knob and walked in, but a feeling in his gut told him that it was better to hang back and listen.

"…So are we clear?" That was definitely Triple H. "I help you win your match tonight, and you get your little title shot at the Rumble. And in return…" He paused. "If Batista ever becomes a problem, you help me out by _dealing_ with him. Only make sure you do it right this time. Not half-assed, like last night."

"And Elektra?" Flair's eyes widened as he recognized the second voice as that of the Legend Killer. What the hell was Randy Orton doing in Evolution's locker room? The Nature Boy didn't have time to ponder, because Orton wasn't finished. "What about her?"

The Cerebral Assassin sighed impatiently. "Jesus H. Christ, not again! Can't you go fuck one of those new Divas and get it out of your system?" He exhaled loudly. "I don't care what you do to her—just make sure that Batista is good and decommissioned when you do it, all right?"

"Do we have a deal then?" Orton answered, but Flair didn't stay to listen to the rest. He was already hurrying down the hall, trying to disappear before the Legend Killer exited the room and caught a glimpse of him. His mind was humming so fast that he thought it would blow a circuit. Above all, one question kept repeating itself in his mind.

_What the hell am I going to do_?

* * *

Batista hit a huge neckbreaker on Orton, the Legend Killer's body bouncing off the mat. The Animal went for the cover, but referee Earl Hebner had only counted two when Orton's shoulder shot up. 

Elektra slammed both hands down on the ring apron. "Come on, Dave!" she cried out encouragingly. She wasn't really worried; Orton had hit some offensive moves, but the majority of the match had been all Batista. And, just as he'd promised, he'd kept his temper under wraps, paying close attention to the ref's counts, backing off before he could be disqualified.

Not that Orton had made it easy for him. The match had barely gotten underway before both Batista and the Legend Killer had been knocked outside. Orton had jumped up first, and seeing the silver-eyed Diva a few feet away, had advanced toward her, smiling in that sick way of his. He didn't get very far before the Animal was up as well, grabbing him by the back of the neck and throwing him into the turnbuckle post. Since then, the action had been confined to the ring, but Elektra wasn't about to put another attempt past the Legend Killer.

She shot a glance over toward the announce tables, where Triple H and Flair were seated on folding chairs, both of them cheering on Batista as well. Elektra had to struggle to keep the disgust from showing on her face. It was the Animal's match; yet for some reason, the World Champion had felt compelled to come out _first_, to _his_ music, and then strut around the ring for five minutes like _he_ was the one wrestling tonight. Elektra rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. No doubt it was merely the Game's way of getting yet another boost to his ego.

She turned her attention back to the ring. Batista still had the advantage; he had just hit Orton with a massive powerslam. He dropped down for another cover, but this, too, only earned him a two-count. Elektra exhaled impatiently, feeling just as exasperated as the Animal must be. Batista pulled Orton up ungraciously. The Legend Killer tried to fight back with some lefts and rights, but ended up on the receiving end of a spinebuster that shook the ring.

The Animal paced around the ring, shaking the ropes, ready to go for the kill. Elektra clapped her hands, a smile spreading over her face. Batista reached down, grabbed Orton, setting him up for the Batista Bomb. For a moment, Elektra tensed, fearing a repeat of the previous night. But there was no low blow this time; the Animal locked both arms around the Legend Killer's waist, hoisting him up, preparing to drill him into the mat.

However, just because Orton was in a dangerous spot didn't mean that he was ready to stop fighting. Bringing up his hand, he nailed Batista with some hard rights, eventually forcing the Animal to release him. As the Legend Killer came back down, he grabbed Batista around the neck, planting him with a DDT. Elektra gasped, taking an involuntary step back from the ring. Batista got back to his feet slowly, but it wasn't for long, as the Legend Killer sent him falling face-first into the turnbuckle post with a drop toe hold. Once the Animal was trapped in the corner, Orton began attacking with several vicious kicks. Elektra could only watch, frozen to the spot. The Legend Killer noticed her standing there and looked up. That horrible demented smile lit up his face for an instant.

Elektra felt anger pour through her body, breaking the paralysis. "You _fucker_—" she hissed through gritted teeth. Storming to the ring, she took hold of the bottom rope, fully intending to pull herself up so she could slap the taste out of Randy Orton's mouth. However, she never got a chance to, because someone else beat her to the ring apron.

Flair leaned over the top rope on the opposite side of the ring, distracting the referee with an argument about something inconsequential. Batista, shaking off the effects of eating the turnbuckle post, saw that the ref's back was turned and used it to his full advantage: he hit Orton with a low blow. The fans booed, but Elektra didn't care. As far as she was concerned, it was payback, pure and simple. The Animal pulled himself back up, trying to regain his earlier momentum.

It was then that Elektra hear the familiar clang of a steel chair slamming shut. Her gray eyes widened and her whole body stiffened. The last time she had heard that sound, Triple H had laid out four people, including the referee.

And Batista.

The silver-eyed Diva felt her heart plummet into her stomach. She slowly looked over toward the Game, her interest in the match momentarily forgotten. Just as she'd feared, the Cerebral Assassin was standing, his chair in his hands. He was advancing toward the ring, grabbing the ropes and pulling himself onto the ring apron.

Quickly, Elektra hurried around to the adjacent side of the ring, coming to a halt a foot from the World Champion. She hesitated, unsure of what to do. If she climbed up there, Triple H could shrug her off and claim it was an accident. Doing so would immediately send the Animal over here, but it would also increase the chances of Orton stepping in and stealing another victory. No…Elektra couldn't get involved, not in an obvious way; there was no way that she was going to distract Batista a second time.

She stared up at the Game, her expression filled with a combination of anger and concern. "Hunter, what the fuck are you doing?" she blurted out. "Put the damn chair down!"

Naturally, the Cerebral Assassin ignored her. Instead, he motioned to the Animal, pointed at the chair. "Here, Dave, take this!" he called out. "Take out that son of a bitch!" The referee didn't notice; he was still occupied with Flair.

Batista slowly walked over to the Game, glancing first at the chair, then at the Champion. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked. "I don't need it; I got this one."

Triple H, on the other hand, was adamant. "C'mon, just take it!" he cajoled.

Behind Batista, the Legend Killer was getting to his feet. His body tensed in preparation. Elektra's eyes swept over the whole scene: the form of Orton ready to strike; Batista staring down the Game, breathing hard; the steel chair held so conveniently at eye level. And for one terrible moment, she saw the entire picture laid out before her. She saw the way it was going to play out. Her heartbeat grew still.

"Oh my God…" she whispered in horror.

Triple H was within arm's length of her, but just the act of grabbing his ankle seemed to take a thousand years. She felt as though she was swimming through molasses; every action appeared to last an eternity. She had just wrapped both arms around his right ankle when Orton launched himself into the air, catching Batista in the back with a standing dropkick. Before Elektra could put the Game out of the way, the Animal barreled forward, his face colliding with the steel chair.

The force of the impact knocked the Cerebral Assassin off the ring apron. Elektra let go and backed away before he could fall on her. She looked back toward the squared circle. Batista was staggering backward, dazed from the chair shot to the face. Before he could regain his bearings, Orton grabbed him, pulling him down and rolling him up for the three count.

Elektra stood there, dumbstruck, her mouth hanging open. It had all happened so fast; she was sure she had just hallucinated it. But then Mercy Drive came blasting through the speakers and she knew that it was no delusion. For the second time in twenty four hours, the Animal had just lost a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship, courtesy of Randy Orton.

Orton had wisely rolled out of the ring, stumbling up the ramp and raising his arms in celebration. On the canvas, Batista was just starting to get back to his feet. However, Elektra's focus was on neither of them; it was on the stunned Champion at her feet. Batista had lost his title shot—but this time, it wasn't her fault.

Triple H opened his eyes, cautiously taking in his surroundings. His gaze locked with hers, and his eyes grew wide. Whatever Elektra's expression was, it was enough to make the World Heavyweight Champion nervous.

She would discover later, in viewing tapes, that her expression was eerily reminiscent of the hate-filled one the Cerebral Assassin often directed at her.

* * *

The mood within Evolution was understandably tense when they got back to gorilla. Surprisingly, however, it was not the Animal who lost control of their temper first. 

Elektra let go of Batista's hand, storming over to the Game. Before the World Champion even had time to react to her presence, she brought her hand up to slap him across the face. "You bastard, you did that on purpose!" she spat. She swung up her other hand, catching him on the opposite cheek. "You did that on purpose! _You did that on purpose_!" Her blows became wild, her cries shrill, as she lashed out at the Cerebral Assassin with all of the anger and frustration she had bottled up inside.

Incredibly, Batista stepped in, grabbing Elektra's wrists and dragging her back from Triple H. Still restraining her hands, he wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against him. But Elektra continued to struggle, trying to resume her attack on the Game.

The Cerebral Assassin, in the meanwhile, was attempting to compose himself, pushing his hair back from his face. Based on the expression residing on his rough features, he was just a few seconds away from snapping himself. He pointed at the Animal and the quivering form of Elektra. "You better get ahold of your girlfriend before I go off on her." he retorted, his eyes blazing. His gaze fastened on Elektra. "It was an accident." His voice, surprisingly, was calm, almost gentle, when he spoke to her.

"Bullshit!" Elektra was livid by now, still struggling to break free from the Animal's grip. Her eyes were the shade of molten silver. "That's what you said the last time, and it was _no fucking accident_! What's the matter, Hunter?" Her tone became taunting. "You afraid you can't beat Dave? Did you think, 'Hey, maybe I should help Orton win, because at least I can _beat_ him.'? What, did you two make a deal or something—"

Triple H stormed toward the two of them. "You shut up!" he roared. "You no-good lying bi—"

"Hey!" Batista spoke now, maneuvering Elektra behind him. He pointed toward the Game. "Don't you _ever_ talk like that to her!" At his side, his other hand began to clench and unclench.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Suddenly Flair was in the middle of them all, trying to ward off three parties on the verge of tearing each other apart. "All of you—_shut up_!" This command, coming from the usually-calm Nature Boy, was enough to send everyone into sullen silence. Flair looked around at all of them. "Let's everyone just take a step back and think about this. I know that emotions are running high right now. Yes, Dave lost the match, and _yes_, it was because of Hunter. But it was an _accident_." His eyes fixed onto Elektra's. "Just an accident." The Nature Boy took a deep breath. "Now let's try and remember that we're a part of Evolution—"

"Oh, _shut up_ about fucking Evolution," Elektra's voice was hoarse with emotion. She glared at Flair. "You're just like him; that's _all_ you ever care about." She moved forward, her hands at her sides. "You're worst than him, did you know that? I mean, Hunter does shitty things to people, but _you_—you do _nothing_. That's all you've ever done, Ric. You stand back and you watch things happen, and you do _nothing_ to stop them." Elektra looked from the Nature Boy back to the Game, on the verge of succumbing to her emotions. "You both make me sick," she whispered harshly, and turning around, she hurried away with long rapid strides.

The Animal stared at her retreating form, then glanced back at his teammates. There was an indiscernible combination of emotions on his face. Without speaking, he dashed after her.

Flair watched both of them depart, Elektra's words reverberating in his brain.

* * *

Triple H stopped by the trainer's to make sure that the chair shot and subsequent fall hadn't busted anything open, before returning to the Evolution locker room. When he opened the door, he found Flair already there. 

The Nature Boy was sitting on the couch, hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on his fists. His expression was pensive. The Game took a seat on one of the easy chairs, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "It's been a long night, hasn't it?" He whistled. "Man, that Elektra—it must be her time of the month or something. Geez."

"I've been thinking about what she said," Flair's remark was quiet, almost emotionless. The Cerebral Assassin sat up slightly, eying the Nature Boy with new interest.

"Don't tell me that you're going to let what _she_ said get to you, Ric," he replied, his forehead creasing with amusement. "You saw her; she was out of her mind tonight."

"Maybe." Flair sat back, fixing his gaze on the World Champion. "But that didn't stop her from being right." He saw Triple H start to open his mouth, and quickly cut him off. It was the Nature Boy's turn to talk now. "Ever since you asked me to be a part of Evolution, I've turned a blind eye to a lot of things. And I was fine with that. But it wasn't until she came around that it really started to bother me." He paused to take a breath. His eyes turned hard. "You treated her like shit, Hunter. I mean, I've seen people treat _dogs_ better than you treated her. But I never stepped in, never said 'Hey, you need to treat her better,". And then, when you caught her with Orton—"

Flair hesitated as the memory replayed itself. "I watched you beat the hell out of her, and I didn't even try and stop it. I mean, H, I've got daughters at home. When I can't even stand up to protect a woman, what the hell does that say about me as a father? As a _man_?"

Triple H sighed, rolling his eyes. "Listen, Ric—" he began.

"No, _you_ listen!" The emotion in Flair's voice made his slight lisp even more noticeable. The Nature Boy rose to his feet, his tanned face turning bright pink. "I know that you helped Orton win the match; I overheard you two earlier. Oh, I played dumb, distracting the ref when you asked me to, pretending I didn't know what was going on. But I still helped you cheat the Animal out of a title match tonight. And when Elektra came after you--I stood there and lied to her face." He shook his head. "I'm sick of this shit."

Triple H stared up at the older man, his expression blank. "What're you saying, Naitch?" he asked, his voice as emotionless as his face.

Flair didn't respond for a second or two. When he did, his face began to resume its normal color. "You rescued me two years ago. I was messed up, I could barely remember who I was, I was on the verge of retiring…and you brought me back. You made me part of the greatest force in the history of this business, and I can never repay you for that. You're the best wrestler in the WWE, you're my friend…and I see no reason for that to change. So as long as you're defending that title, I'll always be there to help you keep it." He bent over, and his expression became deadly serious. "But let me make something absolutely clear, H: if either you or Orton go after Elektra again, I will have no problem _doing nothing_ while the Animal beats the shit out of you."

Straightening up, he stepped past the chair and exited the room, leaving the World Heavyweight Champion with only his title and his thoughts.


	46. Chapter 46: Ancient History

Chapter 46: Ancient History

Elektra ground to a halt beside a row of carefully arranged folding chairs. Other than two crew members winding up electrical cords several yards away, the hallway was deserted. Not that their presence had any effect on the gray-eyed Diva's current state of mind; she was long past caring what anyone heard or saw.

She was so furious that she was sure her heart would rupture from its relentless pounding. A similar rhythm was throbbing in her forehead, a sensation too acute to be nothing, but too numb to be pain. The world around her stood out in sharp clarity, and with every beat of her pulse, each object in her vision seemed to give off a faint aura of blood red.

_He helped Randy win. That son of a bitch helped Randy win. And Ric…he didn't do anything to stop it._

Her pale eyes narrowed to small slits.

_I could kill him. I could kill them both… _

Elektra realized then with dull comprehension that she was practically hyperventilating; her breath tearing in and out of her lungs in short ragged gasps. She caught a breath and held it, _forced _herself to hold onto it, the brief span of seconds feeling like twenty minutes to her feverish mind. Her lungs were burning, her brain crying out for fresh oxygen, but still the silver-eyed Diva refused to exhale, refused to let the anger inside her brim over and out of control. A part of her—a very _large_ part, in fact—wanted that to happen, wanted to let the dark rage take over without care or concern for the consequences. But in the midst of all that turmoil, there was still some measure of rationality within her, and Elektra clung to that, knowing that if she lost control, she would lose her sanity as well.

_No matter what he did, _she thought to herself. _I'm not going to let it drive me insane…_

After everything she had been through during the past year, during the past _seven_, it was stupid to let _this_, this one incident, be the thing that finally broke her. Elektra closed her eyes, letting her breath out. She took another one, a deeper one, turning the very act of breathing into a slow deliberate ritual. And with each exhalation of oxygen, she felt the fury inside her ebb away. She was still angry, but at least it was a manageable level of anger. The gray-eyed Diva opened her eyes, looking straight ahead. The two technicians at the other end of the hall were finishing up their task, their attention on their work, not her. Only Elektra knew just how close she'd come to going crazy.

"Goddamn you, Hunter." she whispered, but her voice was too drained to hold any real malice.

"Elektra!" The gray-eyed Diva didn't turn around when Batista called her name; she was still too shell-shocked from the torrent of emotion that had just ripped through her. It was only when he tentatively touched her shoulder that she rotated her body toward his, pressing herself against him, burying her face in his chest. She didn't cry; merely drew in breath after shuttering breath.

The Animal slowly put his arms around her, his lips grazing the top of her head. For a while, he just stood there, holding her until he felt an almost imperceptible sense of ease fall over them both. Then, with equal parts resolution and reluctance, he pulled her back, holding her at arm's length. His dark eyes bored into hers. "Baby, what happened out there?" he asked, his voice quiet. His tone was concerned, but it held a gentle command as well. He slid his hands to her face. "What's going on?"

When he pulled her back, Elektra had cast her eyes downward, afraid to meet Batista's gaze. Now, with all the inner strength she could muster, she lifted her lids, staring back at him. His expression was as controlled as his voice, but she could see the first indications of panic. He was worried; not just for her physical safety, but for her emotion well-being. _Tell me, baby…_ his eyes pleaded with her silently. _Tell me anything…so long as it's the truth. _And Elektra almost wept, because that was the one thing she couldn't tell him, not really.

"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper, her speech halting as she held back tears. "I didn't mean to lose it back there, I just—" She stopped and swallowed before emotion could take over again. If she broke down now, she would have no choice but to tell him everything.

The Animal didn't answer at first. Instead, he bent down, covering her lips with his. The kiss was meant to calm her, but it only deepened her sorrow, until the sobs threatened to burst from her. Elektra broke away, a soft gasp escaping her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the look of hurt and surprise that had to be flashing across his face. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" She kept murmuring those words over and over again, even though she knew that an apology was meaningless without an explanation.

She felt Batista cup her cheek with his hand, then his face pressed against hers. His breath was warm on her ear. "Please, Baby," he whispered. "Please…just tell me what's going on. What happened; what did you see?"

"I don't know," Elektra's voice was so soft at first that even she barely heard it. She drew back slowly, but only so she could open her eyes and look up at him. "I don't know," she said again, and now tears started to spill down her lower lids. "I don't know what I saw."

This was the truth; whatever she had seen in the ring had registered in her subconscious. She had known that Triple H had held up the chair so that Orton could knock Batista into it, but she didn't know _how_ she had known. Replaying the incident in her mind, she couldn't lock onto any one thing that stood out. It could be that the realization was the result of wrestler's intuition. Or maybe it was based on the knowledge she already possessed; the fact that the Cerebral Assassin had bargained with Orton once before…and could probably do so again.

Or maybe she remembered nothing because there was nothing to see. Maybe this supposed betrayal…was all in her head.

Elektra started to shake; not violently, just a tiny continuous tremor that gripped her whole body. She didn't feel her lips move; the words seemed to drift out of her mouth. "Dave...am I losing my mind?" The anger was gone, replaced by fear; the fear that her own perception of reality was slipping away. "Am I going crazy?" She saw the concern flare up in his eyes and knew that she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. "I know I saw something—_but I don't know what I saw_!"

"Elektra, stop! Stop!" Batista grabbed her face roughly with both of his hands, almost hard enough to hurt. He shook her just a little. "Look at me—look at me!" he commanded. Elektra obeyed, her body sagging in resignation. The Animal stared at her, his breathing hard. From the tone of his voice, he was trying not to shout. "You're not crazy," he told her, still maintaining his grip on her face. "If you say that it happened, then it happened…and whatever you want me to do about it, I'll do it. But, baby, you're scaring the shit out of me. Something's eating away at you, and I don't know what it is." The beseeching look appeared in his eyes again. "If there's something you're not telling me—whatever it is, just say it. Just tell me."

The silver-eyed Diva froze for a second or two, an icy sensation trickling down her spine. She only hoped, _prayed_, that Batista hadn't noticed. "It's nothing," she lied, feeling like a traitor. "I'm just…I'm just angry, and I'm tired. I'm so tired of his shit."

Batista gazed at her, and just like last night, there was something in his face that she couldn't identify. Without giving her an opportunity to observe him further, he pulled her against him, embracing her gently. "I know…I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just that…" He hesitated. "I love you, and it kills me, seeing you like this."

Elektra closed her eyes, a few more tears trickling down her cheeks. "I love you, too," she replied softly.

Batista bent his head down, his mouth grazing her temple. "Besides, what happened tonight…it's not the end of the world."

"Yeah, right," Elektra answered, her voice a touch bitter. "Once Hunter's done dealing with Orton, he's going to make sure you never get anywhere _near_ that title."

"Hmm." the Animal murmured thoughtfully. Something in the quality of his voice made Elektra pull back. She stared, puzzled, up at him.

"Okay," she admitted, her tone skeptical. "What's up? Why are you being so calm about this?"

Batista chuckled, warmth and tenderness creeping back into his expression as he gazed down at his girlfriend. "Because, baby," he replied. "There's more than one way to get a title shot at the Royal Rumble…"

* * *

Of all the pay-per-views she had experienced so far, whether as an active participant or merely a spectator at ringside, Elektra had come to regard the Royal Rumble as her favorite. The Rumble was a transition point, where old feuds started to die and the first tenuous shapes of new ones emerged. An argument, a push, an accident—such small things, but they had the power to spark off rivalries that would echo throughout the year. Right now, they were suggestions, nothing more, but they were lurking in the background of every action and word, just begging to be brought to the surface.

The other Superstars and Divas must have felt the same way, because there was an electricity in the air, an anticipation. Everyone seemed just a little more on edge, their attitudes a little sharper than normal. The high levels of tension and the close proximity of two separate brands could bring out the worst in Superstars—or it could force them to rise over it and perform better than they ever had.

Elektra smiled to herself. The atmosphere wasn't the only thing she loved about the Royal Rumble. After all, it had been at this very event a year ago that she and Batista had shared their first magical kiss, had realized how they felt about one another. It had been the initial link in a long chain of events, and now here they were, a year later, at another Rumble, still the same—but yet so different.

She was waiting outside the General Manager's office, where Batista had just entered to select his Rumble entry number. Elektra leaned her head back against the wall, letting her eyes fall almost shut as she listened to the sounds of activity and energy emanating from the hallway, and in the distance, from the arena. As she did, a new voice intruded into her thoughts, strange, but also completely familiar.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the First Lady of Evolution herself."

Elektra opened her eyes, startled. Her surprised expression quickly lapsed into an easy smile when she saw who it was. "The Doctor of Thuganomics, I presume?" she joked.

John Cena grinned, leaning one shoulder against the wall and crossing both arms casually over his chest. "Guilty." He stared at her, his expression open and friendly. "I would have introduced myself a lot sooner than this, but to be honest, this is probably the first time I've seen you not surrounded by at least three other guys."

Elektra laughed in spite of herself. "Ah, yes, the perks of being in Evolution. Two extra bodyguards whether I want them or not."

"Yeah, but at least the one who's really watching your back is the one who really matters." Cena's voice took on a note of seriousness, and as the gray-eyed Diva watched, his expression sobered a little. In contrast, Elektra felt her own smile widen at the thought of Batista.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, he does." Before she could become lost in her thoughts again, she shook her head slightly and glanced back up at the SmackDown Superstar. "But you got my title wrong. It's just Elektra now; I haven't been the First Lady for a long time."

"That's only if you think Triple H is the one running Evolution, which _I_ don't," Cena replied smoothly without missing a beat. "And even if he is…he won't be for long."

He stared at her, and Elektra realized for the first time just how penetrating his gaze could be. It was as though he saw through life's bullshit to the true heart of things, and the silver-eyed Diva recognized that he probably knew a whole lot more about the Evolution situation than he would let on. The hip-hop bad boy exterior—it was just a distraction, hiding a mind that was most likely as cunning as the Game's. But unlike the Cerebral Assassin, there was an honesty about John Cena; a sense of confidence and determination in his own abilities that outweighed any desire to resort to mind games.

Cena continued. "I watched Raw on Monday; he almost shit himself when Dave qualified for the Rumble—" He stopped, realizing the expression he had just uttered. His strong-featured face turned pink. "Oops. Pardon my language."

Elektra didn't answer, but it wasn't from offense over Cena's choice of wording. Her mind was replaying the events from six days ago, after a decisive victory over both members of La Resistance had earned Batista a spot in the Royal Rumble.

However, instead of congratulating his fellow Evolution member, Triple H had barely been able to mask his disapproval. Just as he had done when the issue had first been suggested, he accused the Animal of losing his focus, claiming that his Rumble aspirations were…_selfish_. Elektra had managed to keep a neutral expression on her face, while inside she resisted the urge to say _Pot…meet Kettle_.

Batista was getting better at keeping his temper, because his expression didn't change. In fact, ever since the disastrous number one contender's match, the Animal had radiated a quiet but menacing ambiguity whenever he was around the Cerebral Assassin. Triple H, of course, never said anything about it, but if the wary looks he shot Batista every now and then were any indication, the Animal's change in attitude was definitely starting to get to him. The old Batista, with his short fuse and inclination for violence; that was something he could contain, could use to his advantage. But this...this was something that he wasn't prepared for.

Elektra wondered what Triple H's retaliation would be, and later that evening, she found out. The Game had gone to Eric Bischoff and had Flair added to the Rumble as well. On the surface, it seemed completely innocuous; the Cerebral Assassin merely improving his faction's chances of earning a title shot.

But nothing was ever innocuous when it came from Triple H. There was nothing but dislike between the Animal and the Game now, but Batista still respected Flair. By entering the Nature Boy in the Royal Rumble, the Cerebral Assassin was gauging Batista's loyalty. In order to win the Rumble, the Animal would have to outlast twenty nine other men, and in order to do that, he would have to eliminate Flair. At some point during the course of the match, he would have to choose between a title shot and Evolution.

And if he could do that, if he could take out someone that he respected…how could he possibly remain loyal to Triple H?

Elektra remembered that she was still talking to Cena, and quickly pulled herself back to the present. "Whoops, lost my train of thought," she apologized.

Cena studied her, his expression completely serious now. "You don't like talking about him, do you?" he asked.

Elektra knew exactly who he meant. She was beginning to like Cena, so she didn't feel compelled to play dumb. "Not really." she admitted.

Her expression must have seemed pained, because Cena's softened slightly. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Elektra interrupted softly, staring down at the floor.

"No, really," For perhaps the first time in his WWE career, the Doctor of Thuganomics seemed to be struggling for words. He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall at his sides. "I mean—it pisses me off, seeing guys who treat women like that."

"It's fine," Elektra said again, her voice sounding far away in her ears. A dull throbbing had begun at her temples and was slowly spreading outward.

The SmackDown Superstar peered at her, his expression an interesting combination of sympathy and indignation. "How did you…_survive_…him treating you like that?"

The silver-eyed Diva looked up, trying to look and sound noncommittal. She met Cena's eyes without flinching, even though unwanted memories were flashing in and out of her consciousness.

_The expression of utter hatred on Triple H's face…_

_His hand striking her cheek…_

_Blood spilling out over the canvas…_

_"What's the matter? Don't like being exposed for what you really are?"…_

_What you really are…_

_What you really are…_

Her voice was low, without emotion. "I compromised."

At that moment, she felt Batista's strong arms wrap around her waist, followed by his mouth against her ear. "Hey…having fun?" he whispered.

Elektra smiled, the presence of the man she loved enough to oust any unpleasant thoughts. She twisted around a little, kissing him quickly on the lips. "A little. I made a new friend." She nodded her head in the direction of Cena.

The Animal glanced up, noticing the Doctor of Thuganomics. His face lit up with a grin. "Hey, John, how's it going?" He released Elektra, stepping around her and extending his hand toward Cena.

"Not much, man," Cena replied. "It's been awhile." The two of them exchanged one of those handshake embraces that only guys can pull off.

Elektra looked from one to the other. "Wait…you two know each other?"

Cena clapped Batista on the shoulder. "Yep, Dave and me…we go way back. OVW, and then SmackDown, before he jumped ship to Raw." He glanced at the Animal. "What was your name back then again? Leviathan?"

Batista laughed. "Damned if I remember. That's ancient history." He moved back, slipping his arm around Elektra's shoulders.

For a moment, all three of them were silent, then Cena spoke again. "Looks like you've moved up in the world since then. Joining forces with Evolution—"

"How about you, dude?" Batista interjected. "United States Champ…congrats, man."

Cena, however, wasn't finished. "—hooking up with Triple H's girl; you've got it all, man."

Elektra sucked in a breath, and beside her, she felt the Animal tense. Cena had just crossed a line, and all of them knew it. For the first time, she sensed the competitiveness between the two men. She didn't know whether it was simply two alpha males butting heads, or whether there was actual resentment lingering beneath the surface. Either way, she hoped the situation wouldn't escalate into a brawl.

Slowly, Batista drew Elektra in front of him, pulling her back against his chest. He looped his arm protectively but gently around her neck, and Elektra reached up to grip it with both hands. The Animal's voice was low, but all the warmth had vanished from it now. "In case you haven't noticed, John—she's not Triple H's girl anymore."

"Yeah, the Game made that pretty clear when he beat the shit out of her on live television," the SmackDown Superstar retorted. He paused to take a breath, and Elektra could almost see what his next words would be: _And what did you do to save her? You powerbombed her, almost ripped her in half._

The gray-eyed Diva felt a small sliver of dread slide through her stomach. She and Batista had never talked about what happened that night, about how he lost control. She had never asked him to explain, because in the same breath, she would have had to explain why she kissed Randy Orton, and she wasn't sure if either of those questions had answers. They had allowed themselves to forget, to file the incident away in the back of their minds and be grateful that they had each other once again. To do anything less would have left questions hanging in the space between them, unspoken enigmas which would have eventually torn them apart. And Elektra couldn't let John Cena destroy that peace.

"Stop." she heard herself say. She twisted her head around toward Batista, then back toward the Doctor of Thuganomics. "First of all, I'm still here. Second, if you two want to have a pissing contest, save it for the ring, all right?"

Neither man said anything at first, but behind her, she felt the tension drain from the Animal's massive frame. In front of her, she saw the determination on Cena's face falter. Elektra stared at him, her eyes pleading with him not to broach the subject. After several long moments, the SmackDown Superstar relented and he sighed. "You know what, forget I brought it up. It's none of my business, and besides, it's ancient history now. What matters is that she's with you." He held out both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "No hard feelings."

"No hard feelings, man," Batista replied, but there was a stiffness to his words which seemed to suggest that he was only being polite.

The two men stood, eying each other, before Cena extended his hand. "Good luck out there tonight, Dave,"

For a second or two, Batista didn't move, then he carefully maneuvered Elektra to the side, reaching across to accept Cena's hand in a crushing grip. "You too, John."

Cena nodded, then looked down at Elektra. "Nice meeting you." was all he said, then the Doctor of Thuganomics walked away.

Elektra waited until his footsteps faded away, then pulled back from Batista, looking up at him. "What just happened?" she demanded. "Did the two of you have a falling-out or something that I don't know about?"

The Animal was perfectly still at first, then he shrugged. "John and me…we've always been kind of competitive. Then I went to Raw, I joined up with Evolution, and we kind of fell out of touch." He glanced down at her. "Sorry that we dragged you into that, baby. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"It's all right," Elektra answered. "Besides, up until that point, I thought he was a pretty nice guy."

For the first time, a mischievous smile broke out across the Animal's face. "Really?" he teased. "Should I be worried?"

The silver-eyed Diva smiled in return. "No. He's on SmackDown. Plus," She shifted around to face him, putting her hands on his waist and tilting her head up toward him. "He's not you."

Batista bent down, his lips hovering over hers. "Good. You know how jealous I get." His tone was joking, but the words sent a jolt of memory through her.

_The blur of the world falling away in the final arc of the Batista bomb…_

_"Dave's a jealous guy…"_

_"I walked in that room and saw you kissing another man. You want to tell me how I should have reacted?"_

_The agonizing impact, and then nothingness…_

Elektra shuddered, hoping that Batista didn't see. He didn't, because he leaned down further, sealing her mouth with his. The gray-eyed Diva kissed him back, letting her desire and love drive away the past. What had Cena and Batista called it? Ancient history? She had let the past destroy her for six years; she was not about to start a new cycle of destruction.

Finally, Batista pulled back, sliding his hand down to clasp hers. "Come on," he urged. "Let's head back to the locker room." He grinned again, and this time, it was full of satisfaction. "I've got some news for Hunter that he is _not_ going to like…"


	47. Chapter 47: This Is Payback

**A/N: Finally, a new chapter! Thank you, as always, to all the wonderful readers and reviewers! I know I say this every time, but you're awesome! **

**As always, read, review, but most importantly, ENJOY! Peace!**

**A/A/N: Thank you, Ric Flair, for 36 wonderful years! WOOOOO!**

* * *

Chapter 47: This Is Payback

When Batista and Elektra returned to the Evolution locker room, Triple H was in a state of restless anticipation, not pacing but clearly wanting to. His expression was unreadable, as always, but his body language suggested that he was far more anxious about his upcoming title match against the Legend Killer than he was willing to admit.

The Cerebral Assassin might have allowed this match to come about, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. There was a reason that the Game had spent so much time actively preventing Orton from getting a title shot: in a one-on-one situation, Triple H wasn't sure that he could even beat the Legend Killer. Sure, he had defeated Orton for the title back at Unforgiven, but he had done it with an enormous amount of outside assistance. Even with Evolution's help, there was no guarantee that lightning could strike twice.

There was no doubt that, despite his contempt for the Legend Killer, the Cerebral Assassin also harbored a kind of reluctant pride toward his former protégée. It had probably been that residual admiration which had led him to enlist Orton's help as a hitman of sorts in the first place. Maybe that was also what scared him; the fact that he saw so much of himself in the Legend Killer.

Because maybe even Triple H didn't know to what depths he was capable of sinking. And if that was true…then how far would Randy Orton go in order to win?

The Game looked up as the couple entered the room. He scowled. "Took you long enough…What the hell were you doing out there, making dinner?" The World Heavyweight Champion pushed his blond hair back from his face with one hand. "Listen, Dave, this Orton situation…I need to know you're on the same page as the rest of us…"

Batista ignored the Cerebral Assassin, letting go of Elektra's hand and heading over to the row of shelves. The gray-eyed Diva continued forward, easing carefully past Triple H and sinking down onto the wide leather sofa along one wall. She propped her chin up on her hand, watching the Game with an expression of amused satisfaction. Batista had given her the news out in the hall; she was anxious to see how the World Heavyweight Champion would respond.

Triple H had given her only a cursory glance as she passed by; his attention was directed at the Animal. From the look of irritation on his face, Batista's reticence was getting to him. "Didn't you hear me?" he demanded, his features beginning to turn dark red. "I _said_, we need—"

"I heard you, Hunter." As it had been for the past several weeks whenever the Game addressed him, Batista's voice was low and controlled, without even a hint of unnecessary emotion. The Animal didn't turn around, but continued to study the upper set of shelves. When he spoke again, Elektra was pretty sure she was the only one who caught the laughter behind his words. "But I've got some bad news." He turned around, for once not allowing the Cerebral Assassin to respond. His expression was unreadable. "Bischoff just told me that during your match against Orton…Evolution is banned from ringside."

"_What_?" Elektra had been expecting a priceless reaction, and Triple H did not disappoint. The World Heavyweight Champion's face flushed a deeper red, bordering on purple, as he struggled to get a handle on his rage. "Are you fucking _kidding _me?" he roared. "That son of a bitch—who the _fuck_ does he think he's talking to?" He pointed at Batista, his finger stabbing the air. "_You_—did you have anything to do with this? I swear to God, if you fucking said _anything_—"

Batista flinched. His reaction was minute, almost a facial twitch. But Elektra knew the Animal better than anyone else on the roster, and she realized that the Game's accusation, however wild it might have been, had stung. Quickly, she cut into the conversation. "Don't blame him, Hunter; blame those jackoffs from SmackDown. From what I hear, between JBL's cabinet and Kurt Angle's posse, the WWE Title match was pretty much a fucking circus." She leaned forward a little. "But then again, you wouldn't know anything about that. Your title matches—they're _never_ like that, are they?"

Her pointed remark had the intended effect; the Cerebral Assassin turned toward her, and in the process, gave Batista the opportunity to regain his composure. Triple H glared at her silently. He obviously wanted to tell her to shut up, but didn't have the balls to do it in front of Batista. Elektra met his gaze calmly, eyebrows raised.

As per their "arrangement", the Game had kept his distance from her. However, the silver-eyed Diva enjoyed testing her boundaries every so often, seeing just how far she could push the World Champion. It was a dangerous game, rather like playing catch with a live grenade, but it was the only thing about this whole twisted agreement that gave her anything resembling pleasure.

Batista spoke again, his voice just as calm and measured as before. "Look, all I know is that I went in there to get my number, and the next thing I know, Bischoff's in my face, babbling about 'setting an example' or something like that." Triple H slowly rotated back toward him, and the Animal met his gaze. "He gave me the option of having him tell you or letting me tell you myself." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured you'd take the news better if it came from me."

The Cerebral Assassin opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. He repeated this action one or two more times before finally muttering "Fuck…" under his breath. It was evident that he wanted to argue, wanted someone to blame. But arguing wouldn't change it, and the Game was smart enough to know that if he decided to blame the Animal, there was a great chance he would stagger out of this room with a black eye and a few less teeth.

Instead, Triple H's face closed down into an expression of dull hatred, one that Elektra was all too familiar with. She had seen it on his face at last year's Rumble, as he beat Shawn Michaels unmercifully with a steel chair. And she had seen it a few months ago, in the ring, right before he had backhanded her across the mouth. The gray-eyed Diva's only consolation was that this time, Orton would be on the receiving end of his rage.

There was a soft knock at the door, and one of the road agents stuck his head and shoulders in. "Hunter…your match…you better get your ass in gear."

The World Heavyweight Champion shot his head to the left, his eyes blazing sparks of ire. "Get the _fuck_ out of here!" he growled, his voice raspy with repressed anger. The agent's expression didn't change—he had been in the business far too long for any sort of temper tantrum or threat to actually affect him—but he withdrew nonetheless, closing the door quietly behind him.

Triple H turned slightly, retrieving his title belt from the adjacent bench and hoisting it over his shoulder. Turning back toward Batista, he noticed that the Animal's eyes were not on him, but rather, on the World Heavyweight Championship. The Game's rough features, which had begun to resume their normal color, warped into an expression halfway between a snarl and a sneer. Almost precisely on cue, Batista looked back up and met the gaze of his Evolution teammate, his face full of smug innocence.

The Cerebral Assassin pressed his lips together, biting back a threat that may or may not have been warranted. Without wasting any more time on words, he stalked to the door, throwing it open and storming out into the hall.

As soon as the door closed, Batista turned toward Elektra, his face creasing into a warm smile. "Was it something I said?" he remarked playfully.

Elektra leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Oh, you know Hunter…he can't stand the idea that someone else can play mind games on him. He knows you're messing with him, but he also knows there's nothing he can do about it."

The Animal walked over to the sofa, sinking down next to her and draping his arm across the back. Elektra turned her head toward him, and the smile on her lips died when she saw the sober expression on his face. "Listen…" Batista hesitated for a second or two, his hand coming off the back of the couch to stroke her hair. His dark eyes were filled with an uncertainty he never would have allowed himself to show around Triple H. "Be careful around him, all right?"

Elektra didn't answer; just waited for him to continue. He did so, haltingly. "I know that you like to screw with him, and believe me, baby, after what he put you through, you're more than justified. And it's all right, as long I'm here with you, but we both know that I can't be here all the time." He broke off, glancing down at his lap.

The silver-eyed Diva reached over, touched his face, pressed her palm against his cheek. She finished his thought for him. "You're saying that one day, I might find myself alone with him, and when that happens…don't do anything stupid."

Batista looked back up, and when he did, there was a kind of misery in his gaze. "If something ever happened to you," he murmured. "I would never forgive myself."

Elektra felt guilt surging upward in her body, filling her with a sharp sweet melancholy, and she closed the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. "Don't say that. Don't ever say things like that," she whispered fiercely. "Whatever's happened to me…some of it's been Hunter's fault, and some of it's been mine, but _none_ of it is yours." She pulled back a little, staring up at his face, only a few inches from hers. "Don't _ever_ blame yourself what happens to me."

The gray-eyed Diva stopped, a little taken aback by her own emotions. The Animal gazed down at her tenderly, his face still serious. He gently took her chin in his hand, tilting her head back a little further, and kissed her. They remained like that for several seconds before that simple contact no longer sufficed, and Batista pulled her onto his lap, his hands already playing at the strings of her top.

And then, for a little while at least, nothing else mattered.

* * *

The Game walked slowly down the hall, his feet almost dragging across the floor with each step. Superstars that passed by gave him a wide berth, peering at him cautiously. Triple H ignored them all. None of them mattered anyway, and besides, he still possessed the one thing that mattered to him: the World Heavyweight Championship.

He thought back on his recently ended match against Orton. It had been a hell of a match, and for a while, he had been on the verge of becoming a _former_ 10-time Champion. But then luckily (for him, at least), Orton had gotten his dumb ass concussed, and all it had taken was a Pedigree to get the three-count. After all the grief the Legend Killer had put him through since last summer, the Cerebral Assassin knew he should be feeling triumphant right about now. However, the only taste that filled his mouth was a kind of sour regret. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. If only Randy hadn't won the title from Benoit… But he had, and then he'd turned his back on Evolution, so it had been up to Triple H to knock him back down a peg or two. Taking care of Orton…it was an obligation, nothing more. A bitter necessity that gave him no satisfaction.

"What a waste," he muttered to himself. "What a fucking waste." All he wanted to do at this point was go back to the locker room, collapse on the couch and watch the Rumble. After all, there was a strong chance that his Wrestlemania opponent could be the winner of this match, and besides, this year, there were _two_ Superstars representing Evolution. If one of _them_ won, well, he could always suggest that they jump brands to SmackDown and challenge JBL for the WWE Title. That way, Evolution could control both major championships and both brands. Even at the thought of this consolidation of power, however, the Game's frown deepened. Convincing Flair to do so would be no sweat. Flair always did the right thing, always did what was best for Evolution. Batista, on the other hand…that would not be so easy.

The World Champion approached the door to the Evolution locker room, nudging it open with his boot and slipping inside. His gaze fell on the couch along the opposite wall, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Elektra was on the sofa, her long legs tucked underneath her. She was studying the monitor with rapt attention while with one hand, she absently twirled a lock of dark brown hair around her finger. She didn't even acknowledge the Cerebral Assassin's presence.

For a moment, Triple H pictured himself crossing the room, grabbing that ungrateful bitch by her throat, lifting her up, squeezing until her eyes bulged in their sockets and her lips pleaded soundlessly for mercy…The thought was so clear that for several seconds, he was sure that he had actually done it. Then his vision cleared and he realized that he was still on the other side of the room, watching his ex…_whatever_… hog the couch.

The Game's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "_What _the _hell_ are you—"

Elektra held up her index finger, not even tearing her attention away from the screen. "Shh!"

The Cerebral Assassin blinked with dumb surprise. She had _shushed_ him. This worthless piece of ass had shushed_ him_, the World Heavyweight Champion. His vision turned red and he began to move toward her, fully intending to remind her of just _who_ the hell he was. But as he did so, a memory flitted upward out of nowhere; the recollection of a huge forearm pressed against his windpipe and a voice, perfectly calm but also filled with menace.

_If you put so much as a hand on her again, I'll kill you…_

Triple H stopped, unclenching his hands, which unbeknownst to him, had curled into fists. For a second, he couldn't breathe, as though Batista's massive arm was still crushing his throat. The World Champion looked over at Elektra. Her attention was still on the monitor, her expression hadn't even changed, but yet something about the posture of her body, the relaxed ease of her muscles told him that she was thinking the exact same thing—and enjoying every second of its effect on him.

The Game scowled. Skulking over to a nearby armchair, he collapsed into it, dropping his title belt unceremoniously on the floor and focusing his gaze on the monitor.

For a long while, neither one of them spoke. They watched in silence as the number of Rumble entrants reached ten, then twenty. If anyone had looked into the room during this time, they would thought that they was seeing just another Superstar and Diva watching the Royal Rumble together.

But if anyone would have actually stepped into the room, they would have felt an enormous tension pressing down on them from all sides; the full weight of everything that had ever passed between the World Heavyweight Champion and the former First Lady of Evolution.

Twenty-seven of the thirty entrants had come out so far; some of them eliminated, some of them still in the match. At the corner of the screen, the little timer clicked down to zero and in the arena, a loud buzzer went off. A heartbeat of stillness passed, then the familiar guitar riffs of the Animal's theme burst through the speakers. The Fresno audience leapt to their feet, cheering. Ever since New Year's Revolution, Batista had been coming out to bigger and bigger pops, while more and more "Animal" signs had been appearing in the crowd. Tonight was probably the best response he had ever gotten.

Triple H's lip curled slightly with distaste, but from the vicinity of the couch, he heard a sharp intake of breath. He turned to see Elektra sitting up a little straighter, hands locked together under her chin, as she watched Batista storm the ring. Her lips were parted slightly, and in her pale eyes, there was a warmth and life that the Game had never seen when she had been with him.

Almost as though she could sense his eyes on her, Elektra glanced at him and all the emotion vanished from her features, turning her face into a beautiful but inaccessible mask. The Cerebral Assassin turned back toward the monitor, his mouth turning upward in a small smile. Elektra had just made a big mistake; she had allowed herself to let her guard down around him, and now he was going to find out just how far he would be able to push her without consequence.

The Game allowed several seconds to elapse, during which time he formulated a strategy. Finally, without taking his eyes off the screen, he spoke. "So, Elektra…" For once, he dispensed with "babe". That would come later, if he was lucky. "I've been sitting here thinking, and I can't help but wonder…maybe you've changed your mind about me."

Elektra's head snapped to the side and her eyes grew wide. For a moment, he thought he had shocked her, but the abrupt laughter that burbled up out of her told him different. "Are you _serious_?" she managed to gasp out. "I think you must have managed to hit yourself in the head with that sledgehammer, because believe me, Hunter, that will _never_ happen!"

"Oh really?" Triple H's voice was light, without sarcasm. He continued to watch the monitor, pretending that he really cared how many Superstars Batista was clotheslining over the top rope. "Let me get this straight: you tell me to stay away from you—in fact, you _blackmail_ me into keeping my distance—which, by the way, I have _done_. But yet, tonight, out of all the places in this arena where you could possibly be, you pick the one spot guaranteed to put you alone in a room with _me_." This time, he turned toward her. Elektra didn't look over at him, but the laughter had faded from her expression. It was obvious that this thought had not occurred to her.

The Cerebral Assassin went on. "I have to wonder if Dave even knows you're here. I mean, since he's always so concerned about your _safety_ and everything. I have to think that he doesn't want you anywhere near me. So why are you?" This question didn't receive an answer. That was all right; he hadn't really been expecting one. He studied her face a little longer. She _was_ beautiful; even he couldn't deny that. Even when she was pissing him off, she still managed to turn him on. "He doesn't know, does he?" he asked, changing the topic. He saw from the tiny clenching of her jaw that he had landed right on the mark. The Game chuckled. "I'm not surprised; it works both ways, doesn't it? You don't want him knowing what I did any more than I do. Because then you have to explain to him why you never told him in the first place. And you don't want that. You don't want _anything_ screwing up your perfect little world with Dave Batista—"

"Shut up." Elektra's voice was low but harsh. "Just…just shut up." Her lips pressed together in a thin line.

Triple H shrugged, as though they had been talking about nothing. "All right." He turned back to the television screen, and carefully counted to ten in his head. He looked back at her. "You ever wonder what went wrong between us?"

Elektra uttered a scream of exasperation and anger. "Oh. My. God. _Here_ we go!"

Her irritation did nothing to stop the World Champion. If anything, it goaded him on. He continued to talk casually, as though this was the most trivial thing in the world, even though it lay at the heart of all his resentment towards her. "We had a good thing going. You gave me what I wanted and I gave you what you needed. But then you threw it all away to run off with the Animal. And I've never understood why."

For the first time, Elektra looked over at him and her face was full of a weak triumph. She must have thought that he'd exposed a weak spot. "Oh, I thought you'd _never_ ask," she drawled, her voice dripping with false pity. Her silver eyes flicked back to the monitor. "But you already know why."

"Oh…oh, yeah, that's _right_." Triple H replied, as though he had just remembered the answer. "_Love_." He spat out the word as though it had a dirty taste. "Let me tell you something, babe, the Beatles got it wrong: love is _not_ all you need." He gestured toward her. "Look at you. You _have_ love, and yet you're manipulating him, you're keeping secrets from him, and not because you have to…but because you _want_ to." The Cerebral Assassin smirked. "Truth is…I don't think you're happy unless you've got _someone_ under your thumb."

"Shut up." Elektra's voice was little more than a whisper by now. Her face was trembling as she struggling to hold back the torrent of emotion raging inside her. Her voice was hoarse, near breaking. "You don't understand anything."

"Oh, I don't?" Triple H shot back, glancing over at her again. He was smiling bigger than ever by now; he must be in his comfort zone. The World Champion leaned toward her a little, and she unconsciously drew back. "Maybe I understand you better than anyone else. Maybe that's why I kept you around so long."

"Please." Elektra let out a derisive snort. "You kept me around because it was _convenient_. I was a toy to you; just a little toy for you to play with when you got bored. Dave was the only person I could talk to; the only person who saw that I was dying with you."

"And so he _saved_ you; is that what you're saying?" The Cerebral Assassin finally allowed sarcasm to slip into his tone. His smile became a sneer. "You really think that Dave is gonna ride up on his white horse, and carry you off into the sunset and you're both gonna live happily ever after?" Now it was his turn to snort. "Let me tell you something, princess: Dave is going to disappoint you. One day, he's gonna break your heart, and leave you by the side of the road." The sneer widened, becoming predatory. "And I hope that I'm there to see it when it happens."

He never saw her move. One minute she was glaring at him from the couch, the next, she was suddenly in front of him, one hand clamped over his throat, forcing his head back. Her breath was coming out of her in ragged pants, and tears were shining in the corner of her pale eyes. "You _monster_," she spat.

Triple H kept still, but not out of any fear or panic. He knew Elektra wasn't big enough or strong enough to actually strangle him, but if one of her nails cut into his skin, it was going to hurt like a bitch.

Elektra continued. "Is it because of _her_? Is it what _she_ did that made you this way? She broke your heart, so now you don't have one?" At the mention of his ex-wife, Triple H's smirk faded. He did not like being reminded that at one point, he had let his heart rule him. The gray-eyed Diva bent down, bringing herself more level with him. "You think I _enjoy_ lying to the man I love? You think I like being tied to you once again? I went into this thing knowing that I was going to regret it, and believe me, I _am_. I don't need you to remind me of that."

She straightened up. "Face it, Hunter: your ego has never been able to handle the fact that _I left you_. And even after all the threats, all your talk about what you're going to do to me and how you're going to make me pay, deep down, you don't really mean it, because you're still expecting me to come crawling back to you." She saw the World Champion clench his jaw, and knew that she finally had regained the upper hand. "Let me make something clear to you, Hunter: I will _die_ first before I _ever_ come back to you."

Her eyes blazed with silver fire. "And as for why I'm here, why I'm alone in a room with you, it's this:" She leaned close, her face only inches from his. "I want to see the look on your face when Dave wins the Royal Rumble. Because when that happens, you know that you'll have nowhere else to run, nowhere to hide from him. It's not just your title he's gunning for, _Triple H_, it's _you_. It's what you did to me." Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "You think I'm a bitch? Well, so's payback. And that's what this is. _This is payback_."

For what seemed like the longest time, they remained there, locked in that strange tableau. There was nothing but silence; even the sounds from the television screen faded into the background hum. Then a very familiar guitar riff broke through the deadlock between them. Batista's theme.

And that could only mean one thing.

Elektra stared at the Game, her eyes widening. She snatched her hand from his neck, backing away from him a safe distance and turning her attention to the monitor.

In the ring, Batista had both hands raised in the air. Sweat covered his muscular frame as he roared with triumph. Behind him, the banner for Wrestlemania 21 was clearly visible.

Elektra slowly turned back toward the Cerebral Assassin. The shock was already being replaced by satisfaction, by smugness. There was a statement written across her face, one which seemed to be programmed into the hardware of every woman:

_I told you so…_

Triple H scowled, but the grimace was more a reflex, an attempt to keep that smug little whore from seeing anything more damning. His face seemed to have lost its color. "Don't say it." he growled. "Don't even fucking say it. Just…get out."

Elektra had opened her mouth to say _something_, but she must have changed her mind because she closed it and instead practically skipped toward the door. She was going to run all the way to gorilla.

She was about to reach for the handle, when she turned, fixing her eyes on the slumped figure of the World Heavyweight Championship. Her face was absolutely innocent. "Don't look so worried, Hunter," she cooed, her voice full of malicious sweetness. "Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll go to SmackDown." Without even waiting for a glance, she opened the door and headed out.

She had no way of knowing just how soon she would come to regret those words.


	48. Chapter 48: Uninvited Guests

Chapter 48: Uninvited Guests

For perhaps the only time in her wrestling career, Elektra's stilettos were not a hindrance. She fairly skidded around corners, swerving left and right past startled backstage personnel, coming dangerously close to falling and snapping her ankle, but she never once lost her balance. However, in her haste and excitement, she took a few wrong turns without realizing it, and soon found herself facing a storage closet instead of her intended destination.

The gray-eyed Diva stood there for a few seconds, dismayed. Finally, after taking several deep breaths to clear her head, she turned around and retraced her route back to the correct hallway. Slowing her pace down to a brisk walk, she eventually arrived at gorilla. As always, the space was very bare bones, really more of a crude standing room than anything else. It was also, with the exception of the usual technicians and production assistants, completely deserted.

Elektra stopped, her forehead creasing in bewilderment. Where was Batista...and why hadn't he waited for her?

"He's not here," The silver-eyed Diva turned to see John Cena heading toward her. The United States Champion was walking a little stiffer and slower than he had earlier, one hand pressed to the small of his back. His face dripped sweat and exhaustion. With his free hand, he indicated the way she had come. "One of the road agents came by and whisked him away; saying something about Bischoff wanting to see him. My guess is: you'll find him in the GM's office."

Elektra smiled, nodding her head quickly in gratitude. "Thanks." She turned to go, but Cena's next words stopped her.

"One more thing," The gray-eyed Diva glanced back, absently pushing a tress of dark hair from her face. As she did so, Cena stared back at her and even though he had yet to smile, his features visibly softened. "If Dave's Wrestlemania match is anything like that Rumble…then that ex of yours better watch his ass."

At this, Elektra's small polite smile broadened into one of genuine warmth, evoking one from the SmackDown Superstar as well. She wondered briefly if she had judged Cena too harshly the first time. True, he had said some things that made her uncomfortable, but now, he seemed to understand what was so important about this victory, why a match against Triple H would be about more than just a title belt.

She didn't answer; merely nodded again and headed in the direction of the general manager's office, which was only a few doors down the hall. The door was half-open; she peeked inside. Batista was at the far end of the room, in front of a long white leather couch that put the one in Evolution's locker room to shame. He was sipping a bottle of water, his sharp-featured face tired but filled with a quiet elation. He was staring off at one of the corners and didn't notice when Elektra edged into the room. She lifted up her hand, softly knocking on the open door.

The Animal turned, saw her. His breath caught in his throat in a low gasp. The bottle of water slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor and splashing its contents everywhere. The expression on his face was so full of warmth and love that Elektra thought that the radiance of emotion would blind her. And she knew then that she would remember this moment for the rest of her life.

Batista slowly stretched out his arms, taking one careful step toward her, but the gray-eyed Diva was the quicker one by far. She closed the space between them, launching herself off the floor and into his arms, locking both arms around his neck and both legs around his waist. She was sure that her momentum was going to send the Animal backwards onto the floor, but he caught her effortlessly, as though this was a choreographed dance move. His hands gripped her ass, and then his mouth captured hers, kissing her with a passion and ferocity that sent desirous heat rushing through her body.

They clung to each other, the pain and disappointment of the last several months melting away in these few heartbeats of sublime exhilaration. After so many mistakes and mishaps and misunderstandings they had endured, Batista had achieved something that was _right_. And not even Triple H, the leader of Evolution, could take that away from him.

A soft deliberate cough came from off to the side, and the couple broke off their kissing, turning toward the interrupter of their celebration. Theodore Long gazed back at them mildly, unfazed by their passionate embrace. The diminutive general manager of SmackDown had both hands in front of him, his fingers closed around a manila envelope.

Elektra reluctantly disentangled her hold on Batista and the Animal carefully lowered her back to the floor. The silver-eyed Diva smoothed down her skirt, staring expectantly at Long.

Batista wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. His eyes, however, were fixed on the SmackDown GM. "Hey, man, I was waiting for Bischoff."

Long raised both hands in an apologetic gesture. "My bad, dawg, but I'm the one that called for you." He took a step toward them. "You know, there's been a lot of controversy out there tonight, but the bottom line, Batista, is that _you_ won the _Royal Rumble_. Now--" For the first time, he acknowledged the envelope in his hands, extending it toward Batista, who took it uncertainly. "I've got a contract here for you, playa, and it's for the _main event_ at Wrestlemania to meet the _SmackDown_ WWE Champion." He gave the Animal a congratulatory punch in the arm, and then pointed to the envelope again. "Now you think about that, playa. Congratulations." Giving Elektra a courteous nod, the SmackDown GM turned around and exited the room with his customary swagger.

Both Batista and Elektra stared down at the envelope, the envelope containing a contract for a SmackDown title match. It was just a few pieces of paper…but one signature on those sheets could change everything. The gray-eyed Diva glanced up at Batista. She couldn't discern the expression on his face, and the fact that she couldn't in this particular situation scared her. Surely, he wasn't thinking…

Then the Animal looked over at her, and in an instant, her fears dissipated. There was nothing but amusement in Batista's face, probably at the very idea that Teddy Long would even want him on SmackDown. Obviously, being the Royal Rumble winner had made him a hot commodity. Turning a little to the left, he tossed the envelope toward the couch, where it landed precariously on the edge, seesawing back and forth.

Batista turned back toward Elektra, putting his other hand on her waist and pulling her to him. He leaned down, his breath caressing her ear. "Now that _he's _gone…where _were _we?" he whispered playfully.

* * *

Triple H stormed down the corridor, massaging his temples with one hand, the motion doing very little to assuage the rhythmic throbbing threatening to burst his brain. His common sense—or rather, what remained of it—was reminding him that he had things to do, responsibilities to take care of. He had to talk to Flair, first of all, and then the two of them would have to go and congratulate Batista on his Rumble victory. Then the obligatory victory party would follow, the champagne would flow, and at some point, he would have acknowledge the fact that, come Wrestlemania, his opponent would be his six-foot-five, three-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound enforcer.

A man who also, in all likelihood, hated his guts.

The Cerebral Assassin stopped, pressing his back against the cinderblock wall and closing his eyes. Just like in the locker room, he was seized by the sensation that the walls were closing in on him, that his supply of oxygen was dwindling. That was why he had hightailed it out of there, retreating instead of tending to his _responsibilities_. He was so close to snapping that he didn't trust himself even around Flair, who knew him better than anybody. And if he couldn't do that, then there was no way he could shake hands with the Animal without flinching, no way he could say "Congratulations" without choking on the words.

Better to stand here and concentrate on breathing, rather than how royally fucked he was right now. Better not to think about the smirk on that whore's face—

The Game's eyes flew open. "_Elektra…_" he growled softly to himself. It was all _her_ fault; from the beginning, it had _always_ been her fault. And now, she was probably off somewhere gloating, counting down the days until Wrestlemania, thinking that she had finally outrun him. Well, nobody escaped from the Cerebral Assassin. He would find a way to make her pay for this, even if it destroyed him in the process. It didn't matter what happened to him anymore, because he was fucked anyway…

Triple H abruptly ceased his mental ranting, cocking his head to the side and listening. He'd heard voices coming from around the corner, and the last thing he needed was have some intern catch him muttering to himself. He straightened up, listened harder…then realized that he was merely catching a backstage interview in progress. And that loud Texas drawl could only belong to one person...the WWE Champion John Bradshaw Layfield.

The Game rolled his eyes. Now _there_ was a joke. All that crap about being a "wrestling god"…like he'd last even five minutes on Raw. As far as the Cerebral Assassin was concerned, the only thing JBL stood for was Just a Big Loser.

Since every syllable uttered by the WWE Champion was a waste of oxygen, Triple H turned to go—but just as he did, he heard that unmistakable drawl spit out two magical words.

_Dave Batista…_

The Game whirled around, inching closer to the corner, now listening intently to what the self-proclaimed wrestling god had to say. A smile spread across his face, one usually guaranteed to make Elektra's pale eyes grow wide with fear. Her last words came back to him: _Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll go to SmackDown…_

Maybe. Maybe indeed.

* * *

Elektra couldn't remember the last time she'd been so impatient, or struggled so hard to conceal that impatience. Even now, as she stood next to Batista, pretending to be intently listening to Triple H, she had to press both feet to the floor to keep from tapping them. More than once already, she'd had to flick her gaze downward to prevent herself from rolling her eyes. Beside her, the Animal seemed perfectly at ease, but when Elektra put her hand on his arm, she felt a tenseness in his muscles that indicated he was just as annoyed as she.

Maybe it was the fact that in just a few minutes, Batista would be turning his back on the man he had once considered his friend, on the faction that had brought him to where he was today. And the longer the World Heavyweight Champion kept talking as though nothing had changed, the longer he was merely delaying the inevitable.

It was the night after the Royal Rumble, at the arena in San Jose. The four members of Evolution were in gorilla position, huddled together in a tight cluster. Flair, wisely, had chosen to stand beside both Triple H and Batista, ready to intervene should conflict arise. Periodically, he would glance from one to the other, his expression full of watchful anticipation.

"…Now are we clear?" the Cerebral Assassin's voice drifted back into her consciousness. His eyes were fixed on the Animal. "Ric and I go out first, I say a few words, then you come out and you say a few words, and we'll go from there. You cool with that?" The last sentence was really more of a statement than a question.

"Absolutely, Hunter," Batista's tone was calm and relaxed, his expression unperturbed. "You're the boss." Since last night, the Animal had given the Game nothing but the utmost courtesy and respect, nodding his head at all of his comments and even laughing at his lame and often tasteless jokes. It was an act, of course, just a ploy to make Batista's upcoming betrayal even more unexpected--but while watching them interact at the bar the previous night, Elektra realized that she was catching a glimpse of what life in Evolution had been like before she arrived. Once, a long time ago, they really had been friends. And now…now, they were only a few degrees removed from enemies, two uneasy allies upholding an ideal that neither of them believed in anymore.

The gray-eyed Diva wondered what must be going through Triple H's mind. Did he know? Did he have some inkling of what was going to befall him? Or had he deluded himself into thinking that it wouldn't be as bad as he feared? Or had he—God forbid—actually discovered a way to weasel out of his obligations?

Elektra didn't know, and doubted that the last possibility was true, but either way, she sensed a smug complacency in the World Heavyweight Champion that she didn't like, didn't _trust_.

But then again, when had she ever _really_ trusted the Game?

Triple H's music, and he and the Nature Boy stepped away from the group, turning toward the black curtain. The Cerebral Assassin pushed it aside and stepped out onto the top of the Titantron ramp with Flair in tow.

As soon as the curtain fell back in place behind them, Elektra rotated her body toward Batista. Without speaking, she pressed herself against him, wrapping both of her arms around his body and closing her eyes. This confrontation between Triple H and Batista was something she had waited months to witness, but at this particular moment, she only wanted it to be over. The sooner this match was made official, the sooner the Animal exposed his true enmity for the Game, then the sooner she could forget about some of the less-than-admirable things she had done in the process, things Batista didn't know. Things she would never, _could _never, tell him.

The Animal looked down at her tenderly, reaching up to rest both of his hand on her back, drawing her closer to him. Somehow, he seemed to know what was troubling her. "It's almost over," he whispered, the low timbre of his voice a soothing sound that drowned out Triple H's diatribe from the ring. "Almost over, baby,"

Elektra slowly opened her eyes, staring off in space. When she spoke, her voice was soft, detached. "I've waited forever for this day," she murmured. Pulling back a little, she looked up into Batista's face. "And now that I know it's happening…I'm terrified."

Batista smiled, bringing his hands up to cup her face. He leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Don't worry," he replied, his mouth still grazing her skin. "I promise…after tonight, he's never gonna hurt you again."

_That's not what I'm scared of…_Elektra thought to herself, but she kept her mouth shut. In a little while, the deal she had struck with Triple H would cease to matter; better to forget that it had ever existed in the first place. Better to turn toward the light, toward the future, and keep the darkness in the past where it belonged.

She tilted her head up a little more, feeling Batista's lips brush hers. "I love you," she murmured. "_Always_."

Batista smiled, kissing the tip of her nose, then sealing her mouth in another kiss. For a second or two, they clung to each other, then the harsh sounds of his entrance theme roared through gorilla, reminding them both of what had to be done. Elektra pulled away, closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath. Batista took her hand in his, their fingers entwining, then pushed aside the curtain and stepped out into the arena.

The deafening cheers of the fans almost knocked Elektra over. She let go of the Animal's hand so he could crouch and pose, and used those few seconds to look around her. Everywhere she turned, she saw signs reading "BATISTA BOMB" and "UNLEASH THE ANIMAL". Elektra momentarily forgot herself, her face going slack with awe. All this…for a Superstar who was only supposed to be an enforcer.

She felt Batista take hold of her arm, stirring her out of her reverie. She turned to look at him, unable to hold back the smile curving her mouth upward. The Animal's eyes were hidden behind his customary designer sunglasses, but the gray-eyed Diva could still tell, from all the little ways she'd learned to read his expression, that he was just as humbled by this show of support as she was. Batista put his arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her. He then took hold of her hand again, leading her toward the ring.

Elektra had a sudden flash of déjà vu; the sense that she had lived this moment already. Batista's hand gripping hers, the sounds of cheering enveloping her, Triple H and Flair applauding in the ring, light glinting off the gold title belt on the Cerebral Assassin's shoulder. It could have been the night after New Year's Revolution all over again.

Except that it wasn't. The players were the same, but their roles had changed; the circumstances binding them together had altered. Batista was no longer just the muscle of Evolution; winning the Royal Rumble had placed him on the same level as both the Game and the Nature Boy. That fact alone had to be pissing the World Champion off.

And that the coming battle would be fought on the grand stage of Wrestlemania…Elektra still couldn't completely wrap her head around that idea; it was too overwhelming. She wondered how Batista must be feeling; going from a mid-card Handicap Match the year before to the main event. Somehow, though, Wrestlemania seemed the appropriate battleground for this war to be waged. After all, life in Evolution always had been larger than life: bigger, brighter, louder than the real thing. The only life that she had ever known in the WWE—where better to bid farewell to it than at Wrestlemania?

The couple stepped into the ring—Batista first, Elektra second—and Batista was quickly embraced by both of his mentors. Elektra accepted a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Flair, but she kept her distance from the Game.

"Now," the Cerebral Assassin began, pushing his hair back from his face. "I've heard that there's been some talk about _controversy _at the Rumble last night." He fixed the entire arena with an expression halfway between a glare and a sneer. "So let me clear this whole thing up right now—" He turned and pointed at Batista, who had moved over to stand next to Elektra. Reflexively, the Animal put his arm around her shoulders. "After destroying _everyone_ in the Rumble, _that man_ threw _John Cena_—" There was a hint of derision in his voice when he uttered the SmackDown Superstar's name. "—out of the ring _three times_." The mixture of emotions on his face became a full-fledged grin. "And in my book, Dave, that makes _you_ the man. I'm proud of you."

Elektra glanced up at Batista. The Animal smiled and nodded, but didn't say anything. The silver-eyed Diva swung her gaze back to the Game.

Triple H continued. "Dave, man, you've got it all—strength, power, charisma. It's what I told you when I brought you into Evolution. And now, just like Ric and me, you too are a Royal Rumble winner. It's like I always say: 'Greatness gravitates to greatness.'"

Off to the side, Flair nodded his head eagerly. Even Elektra, who considered herself an expert on the Cerebral Assassin's brand of b.s., had to admit that he was doing well. There was no desperation in his tone, no wheedling, no indication that he knew or feared what was coming. Either he really didn't know, or else he had accepted it.

"So, Dave, it will be my _personal _honor—" The World Champion paused, glancing first at the Nature Boy, then at Batista. "I want to make this official right now. It will be my personal honor to walk to _this ring_ at Wrestlemania and defend _this_ World Heavyweight Championship against _you_." He pointed at the Animal again. All around, fans voiced their opinions in a chorus of cheers, yells and boos.

Elektra remained composed; she smiled and glanced up Batista adoringly, pressing one hand to his chest, as though this was the best news she had ever heard. In reality, she had been expecting Triple H to make an announcement like this. It was the only conceivable way he could acknowledge the Animal's Rumble win without looking like a coward. And in his own mind, he probably figured it was the best way to keep Batista from turning on him. Well, he was about to learn that lesson the hard way, wasn't he?

Batista now stepped forward, accepting a microphone from Flair and lifting it to his mouth. "Wow," he finally said, sounded amused. His face held a huge grin. "That's great, that's great…Triple H, the _Game_, my man!" He gestured at the World Champion, who returned the grin. "I _love_ hearing what you think about me." For the first time, Triple H looked a little nervous. The Animal moved forward, his smile fading a bit. "Now, let me tell you what I think about you—"

Elektra felt the breath catch in her throat. Her pulse pounded in her ears; she could almost taste it in her mouth. After all these months of fear and mind games and power plays, it was going to end right here in this ring. She bit her lip, almost stumbling forward in breathless anticipation. _Here it comes_…she thought to herself. _This is payback, Hunter, and here it comes_…

She was so intent on Batista that she didn't even hear the interruption. It wasn't until the Animal turned toward the Titantron screen in bewilderment that she realized she was hearing a very loud voice; one that did not belong to any of the people in the ring. Puzzled, she looked up at the screen as well.

She recognized the white cowboy hat before she even saw the face. One glance at its features, though, confirmed her suspicions; she was looking at none other than the "wrestling god" himself, JBL. The WWE Champion was berating SmackDown's backstage reporter Josh Matthews. Elektra recognized the set behind them as the interview background from last night's pay-per-view. She stood still and listened.

JBL was talking as he always did: loud and rude. "_First_, you ask me about a barbed-wire steel cage match, and _then_ you ask me about _Dave Batista_? _Yes_, Dave Batista won the Royal Rumble, and _yes_, Dave Batista's an animal—he's some type of phenomenal young athlete—and _yes_, he's going to be a great champion someday." The WWE Champion paused, fixing Josh with an even steelier glare. "But in case you haven't noticed what I have been through in the past year—I smell like smoke, son, 'cause I have been through fire."

Slowly, her feet numb, Elektra walked over to where Batista was standing. She didn't try to take his hand; she knew that now wasn't the right time. Glancing up at his face, she saw that his easy grin had disappeared, replaced by a countenance that was half-confused, half-annoyed.

JBL wasn't finished, though. "And _if_ Batista wants to come to SmackDown, and _if_ Batista wants to face me at Wrestlemania, he had an open door, a welcome mat, an _invitation._" The WWE Champion stopped to take a breath, before delivering a terse condemnation: "He's built like Tarzan; _I will make him look like Jane_!"

Elektra's pale eyes grew huge in shock. Her jaw dropped and her breath shot out in a surprised little gasp. Unable to speak, she turned toward Batista. The Animal was no longer looking confused, or even irritated. Now there was nothing in his expression but anger. The gray-eyed Diva's gaze traveled downward. Batista's fist was clenched so tight the knuckles were bone-white.

JBL's drawl filtered back into her ears. "—like I have beat everyone else they have put up against me." The WWE Champion took another breath, looking slightly exasperated. "Son, it may be the champagne talking, it may be the party I've been to, it may be the party I'm _going_ to, but I have come to the conclusion that I am a _wrestling god_. And Dave Batista, as good as he is, is _not in my league_." With those words, the screen abruptly went black.

Elektra could feel each word, each denouncement of the Animal, dropping into her stomach like a weighted stone, hitting with a tiny _plink plink_ sound. She looked over at Batista again, trying to say something, _anything_, but the words wouldn't come out. Her mind was spinning, thrown too far off balance to even string comforting sentences together.

Batista was breathing very hard, that little twitching muscle in his jaw indicating that he was very near to, if not downright, furious.

Triple H, in the meanwhile, shot a questioning look at the Animal, as though silently asking: _Well, are you just gonna stand there and take that_? Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he raised the mic and moved forward. "It's gotta be the champagne," he began, his tone light. He looked up at the now-blank screen and his expression grew hard. "Because let me tell you something, _Jack_, if you're talking about a wrestling god, there's only one god in this business and you're looking about him!"

The Cerebral Assassin pointed to himself. "And as far as Batista goes…listen to me, Foghorn Leghorn, if _this_ _man_—" He indicated the Animal, who took no notice. "—If this man wanted that title you have sitting around your waist…_BOOM_!" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Like that! It would be done!" The Game pointed to the screen now, as though the WWE Champion was lurking somewhere behind it. "Be careful what you run your mouth off about, because you will get it taken off your _face_! And let me state this for everyone to hear…"

The World Champion moved back, putting an arm around Batista's shoulders. The Animal looked over at him with blank rage, his massive body rigid. Triple H continued. "No one, _no one_, is gonna ruin Evolution's night! At Wrestlemania, it is gonna be _our_ night! It is gonna be _this man_ against _the Game_, _Triple H_, for the _World Heavyweight Championship_." The Cerebral Assassin's expression was very near a snarl by now. "And _that_ is _that_, so let's go." Without another word, the Game threw down his mic with a loud THUMP, then strode toward the ropes, stepping between them and jumping down to the floor.

Evolution's music was blaring through the sound system now, that annoying guitar wail which always seemed to suggest the world coming to an end. Elektra shook her head slowly, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Batista had been on the verge of revealing his true intentions, then all of a sudden, JBL of all people had popped up on the Titantron screen. And then Triple H had said something, his tone like honey, rushing on before either Batista or she could jump in. And somehow, in the process, the Animal's opportunity had slipped away. Slipped away…or had been taken away.

Elektra willed her limbs back to life, turning toward Batista, touching his face with both of her hands. "Dave…" she managed to say, her voice sounding thick in her throat. Batista wasn't looking at her; his gaze was focused on some point far away, his jaw still clenched in anger. Elektra patted his cheek, not hard enough to slap or even to sting, but enough to get his attention. "Dave…Dave, look at me." she commanded gently.

The Animal looked down, his eyes coming back into focus. The anger in his face softened when he saw her, but Elektra could still see it lurking below the surface. "Baby?..." he asked, his expression both perplexed and annoyed. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," Elektra admitted. She glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to see Flair and Triple H on the floor, both gesturing impatiently. The gray-eyed Diva turned back toward the Animal. "Let's just go,"

Batista reached up and took hold of one of her wrists, his grip tight but not painful. "Elektra?" he murmured, his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. "_How the hell did he do it_?"

"I don't know." Elektra hated to say it, but it was the only thing she could possibly say. Triple H had just pulled himself out of harm's way—and she had no idea how he had done it…or what he was planning to do next. And that state of not knowing—it was a dangerous position to remain in for long when the Cerebral Assassin was involved.

_What are you doing, Hunter?_...Elektra asked silently. _What's your plan this time?_...

She received no answer in return.

* * *

Flair pushed open the door to the Evolution locker room, stepping inside and nudging it closed behind him. His keen eyes traveled slowly over the contents of the room, finally settling on the figure seated in one of the easy chairs.

Triple H appeared to be lost in thought, stroking his chin with one hand. He glanced up, finally noticing Flair as the Nature Boy eased into the chair opposite him. "Hey, Ric."

"Hey," Flair replied. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and peering at the World Champion. "I heard that you just got into it with Bischoff over this whole JBL incident."

The Game nodded absently. "Yeah...I told him that he was trying to run some backdoor trading scheme with SmackDown, letting them steal our best guys."

Flair took all this in with a careful nod. "And Eric's reply?"

The Cerebral Assassin chuckled, reclining back in his chair. "That he doesn't want to lose Batista to SmackDown, that he doesn't respond to threats--the usual blah blah blah."

Another nod from the Nature Boy. The 16-time World Champion shifted in his seat, fixing his friend with a probing gaze. "So...who do _you _think is behind this?"

Triple H shrugged, his huge shoulders lifting up and down. "I dunno." He fell silent, staring off into space, his expression contemplative. Flair waited patiently, clasping his hands together. Finally, the Game spoke again, his voice slightly hesitant. "But it got me thinking..."

Flair didn't reply, just leaned back in his chair to listen. Now the Cerebral Assassin sat up, holding onto his title belt with one hand and gesturing with the other. "This Wrestlemania match between Dave and I--it's going to be great. I mean, this is gonna be a match for the ages. But...what if I'm being selfish? What if this match is just holding Dave back?"

The Nature Boy raised his eyebrows, but still didn't say anything. The World Champion didn't seem to notice; his words were flowing more freely now. "Hear me out, Ric--I heard that Teddy Long offered Dave a WWE Title match, that he offered him a shitload of money to go to SmackDown. If someone's willing to offer him that kind of opportunity...why should I hold him back?"

Triple H was really warming to the subject by now; his voice was becoming more and more excited. "Think about it, Naitch--it's a title Batista can win. JBL...he's a pussy. If Dave goes to SmackDown, he can take the title from JBL and then--" The Game paused. "Then Evolution will have both titles. Evolution will control this company." The Cerebral Assassin stopped, envisioning the future he had just described. "Maybe...maybe the best thing is for Dave to go to SmackDown."

Flair's expression remained neutral, but inside, he was shaking his head and smiling in amusement. _Hunter, Hunter, Hunter_...he thought to himself. _You really think that I don't know what you're trying to do?_ This wasn't about what was best for Batista, or even what was best for Evolution. No, this was Triple H's way of trying to protect his own ass. All that stuff in the ring, all that talk about looking forward to facing the Animal at Wrestlemania--it was bullshit. What the Game really wanted was to send Batista to SmackDown, far away from him and his World Heavyweight Championship.

Right now, he was trying to convince Flair, trying to get the Nature Boy on his side so that the task of convincing Batista would be that much easier. What Triple H didn't know what that Flair had already made up his mind before he walked into this room.

"That's a great idea, man," the 16-time World Champion replied. He allowed a grin to cross his face. "That's why you're the Champ, Champ!"

Nothing against Batista, but Flair owned the man sitting in front of him a debt of loyalty, one which he was still a long ways away from repaying. And if Triple H wanted Batista to go to SmackDown, then by God, the Nature Boy was going to go along with it.

After all...what was the worst that could happen?


	49. Chapter 49: Seeds of Doubt

**A/N: Okay, I am SO SORRY about the delay. I hit a bad patch for a while, and didn't want to do much of anything, including write. But I'm back now with a vengeance and a new chapter! So keep reading and enjoying (and even reviewing, if you feel so inclined!) Peace!**

**A/A/N: Chapter 50 is almost done, so I should be posting it soon as well.**

* * *

Chapter 49: Seeds of Doubt

Elektra crept slowly across the wide expanse of the king-size bed on hands and knees. Coming up behind Batista, she hesitantly wrapped both of her arms around his midsection, turning her head and resting her cheek against his shoulder. For perhaps the first time ever, the Animal did not respond to her touch, but continued to sit perfectly still at the edge of the bed, staring off at some distant point in space.

The two of them were back in their hotel room, spending one last night in San Jose before catching their respective flights home in the morning. Since the end of the show, Elektra had tried to engage Batista in two separate conversations, both without success. The Animal was not a talkative soul to begin with, but ever since they had left the arena, he had become downright uncommunicative, responding to all of his girlfriend's queries with a "Hmm" or a grunt. No, not since they had left; this self-imposed distance had begun while Raw was still in progress.

Right after JBL's "message" to Batista had aired on the Titantron screen.

Even though he had yet to utter one word about what had happened, Elektra knew that he had taken offense to the WWE Champion's statement. And she also knew that he would rather let those feelings eat away at him than trouble her with them…unless she was the one to say something about it.

Elektra closed her eyes, letting a nearly inaudible sigh escape her. It seemed kind of hypocritical; asking Batista to disclose his feelings when she had spent almost a month being less than forthcoming about her own. But whenever he was like this, whenever he fell into one of these distant states, she felt like she was losing him, like he was shutting himself off from her. Besides, this intrusion by JBL, almost but not quite an open challenge, had altered the dynamic of their circumstances, and there was something that Batista needed to hear, no matter how inconsequential it would turn out to be.

She lifted her head up and drew back. Reaching out, she gently put her hand on his bicep. "Dave?" There was no answer. Elektra let her hand travel higher, this time caressing his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Dave?" she said again, a little louder this time.

The Animal stirred, turning toward her as though coming out of a deep trance. When his gaze fell on her, however, his face lit up with warmth. "Hey, baby," he murmured affectionately. "Sorry. I don't know where my mind is tonight."

Elektra didn't reply at first. Finally, after a long moment or two, she leaned closer, fixing her pale gray eyes steadily on his. "He got to you tonight…didn't he?"

Batista's brow furrowed, as though her query puzzled him. "Who are you talking about?" he answered. His tone was light, but it did little to mask the weight of emotions behind it. It wasn't that he was confused; it was that he didn't want her to know just how much JBL's comments had bothered him.

Elektra gave him a Look. "You _know_ who I mean." She mimicked the WWE Champion's boastful tone of voice. "Mr. _Wrestling God_." Her lips curved in a small smile, which quickly faded. "What he said…about you not being in his league…it stung—didn't it?"

She saw the Animal open his mouth to speak, and rushed on. "Hear me out, Dave…_please_, just hear me out." Batista obeyed her; he closed his mouth and looked back at her expectantly. Elektra glanced down at her lap, steeling herself to say the one thing she had hoped never to have to say.

She raised her head, meeting the Animal's gaze once again. "Dave, this title shot…whatever you choose to do—" The silver-eyed Diva faltered, her next words choking her. This was even harder than she had imagined. But she forced herself to keep going, forced herself to keep looking at Batista's face. "_Wherever_ you choose to go…I'll support you, no matter what." She inched closer, trying to ignore the fact that her heart felt like a stone in her chest. "Don't make this decision just because of what happened to me…make it because it feels right to _you_. And if that means you end up going to SmackDown and wrestling for the WWE Championship…then I'm okay with that."

The seconds that ticked by seemed like an eternity. The Animal didn't speak; only stared back at her in dumb incredulity. Finally, his face creased in a grin and he began chuckling. Now Elektra was the one staring in disbelief. She felt a tiny sliver of irritation pierce her, annoyed that he had taken her heartfelt speech so lightly.

Whatever she was feeling must have shown in her face, because Batista waved his hand as he struggled to regain his composure. "I'm sorry," he eventually managed to say. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, baby; it's just—" He gulped down a lungful of air and finally stopped laughing. "You really think that I'm going to SmackDown, just because of what that jackass said? It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than _that_ to make me switch brands. Besides…" His sharp features softened, and he took her face in his hands, pulling her closer to him. "I belong on Raw; I _belong_ with _you_. And nothing can change that, not even the great John Bradshaw Layfield."

The Animal paused, wrapping both arms around her body and pulling both of them down onto the bed. Bringing one hand up to her face again, he pushed back her long hair. "Bradshaw's just like Triple H—he's a bully. He thinks that, just because he's gotten lucky a few times, he can do whatever the hell he wants. _Yes_, he pissed me off; the guy's an asshole. But that doesn't mean I'm going to run off to SmackDown just because he said a few things. Now, if JBL decides to come _here_ and try and cut me down face-to-face…" His expression became chilly. "_Then_ he and I will have a problem."

Elektra still looked apprehensive. She snuggled closer to Batista, pressing herself against his chest. The Animal tilted his head down, kissing her hair. "No matter what happens," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Elektra wasn't so sure.

* * *

She was right to be uneasy, because the barbs didn't stop with JBL. The following week, the Raw roster had shows in Hawaii, Alaska, and South Korea, culminating in a television broadcast from Saitama, Japan. Between the long hours of traveling and the physicality of the shows, Elektra was exhausted and knew that Batista was as well. So it didn't help matters that Triple H kept popping up, seemingly unaffected by jet lag, dropping constant hints and suggestions about the possibility of the Animal signing with SmackDown. At first, Batista responded with a smile and a few noncommittal words, but as the days dragged on and his energy began to flag, his responses became more and more terse.

The Game was relentless, but like any good persuader, he knew when to let up, when to step back and let his words take effect. Also, he varied his argument, taking care not to push any one notion too hard; rather, allowing his carefully sown seeds of doubt to take root on their own. On top of that, he had managed to bring Flair over to his side, so even when the Cerebral Assassin decided to play devil's advocate about the whole thing, the Nature Boy was always there to push the idea of Batista wrestling for the WWE Championship.

Through all of this, Elektra hung back, staying silent during these little diatribes. She had remained mum on the issue since her conversation with Batista in that hotel room in San Jose. Partly because she was too tired to offer any argument…but also partly because she couldn't bring herself to say anything more.

The sweet irony of the whole situation was, she had in her possession a secret which would tip the scales against Triple H. If Batista ever learned that the Game had paid Randy Orton to hurt him, had sent Orton after Elektra, there would no doubt as to who the Animal would be facing at Wrestlemania. But if she disclosed that particular secret, she would also have to explain why she had waited so long to tell him. Worse, why she had decided to bargain with Triple H rather than tell him the truth. Treachery was unforgivable, but doing nothing…that was just as bad.

Elektra remembered her last conversation with Lita; how she had blasted the red-haired Diva for concealing the truth from her. And here she was, months later, doing the exact same thing, to someone she cared about. Someone she _loved_.

_You know what you are?..._the tiny voice inside her head whispered. _You're a hypocrite._ And for the first time, Elektra couldn't think of a reason to disagree.

It was in Saitama that _it_ happened, the final capstone event to top off an already hellish week. Batista had a match against Maven during the show. The match was a snap; he easily dominated the Tough Enough winner. However, right after the bell rang, a video appeared on the big screen. It was an interview segment with the Big Show, JBL's opponent at No Way Out, obviously done during the previous week's SmackDown taping. The enormous athlete called Batista "a big fish in a small Raw pond", before daring him to come to SmackDown.

Watching from ringside, Elektra knew that this was just as bad as what had happened last week. JBL was one thing; a nervous champion trying to upstage the Royal Rumble winner. But the Big Show—a man who the Animal had no prior beef with—that was something else. By the time he got backstage, Batista's face was a tightly controlled mask of fury. Unfortunately, no one seemed to have an answer for how the footage had aired, not even Bischoff. The Animal barely spoke during the flight back to the States, and when he and Elektra said goodbye at the gate, his embrace was quick, almost distracted.

But now, a week later, things finally seemed to have returned to normal. All the shows that week were in Ohio, a nice change of pace from the frenetic one of the prior week. Elektra felt revived and energetic, and when she met Batista for the first show in Steubenville, he seemed to be his old self again.

The Raw broadcast had just started in Cincinnati. Elektra was alone in the Evolution locker room, waiting for Batista and checking her attire in the mirror. She had had a Heat match against Molly Holly, and had since changed from her wrestling gear into jeans and a little black corset top. The gray-eyed Diva was fussing with her hair, trying to coax a stray tress back into place, when she heard the door swing open behind her. Thinking it was the Animal, she turned, a smile ready on her lips…a smile which rapidly faded when she saw the Cerebral Assassin standing just a few feet away, a smirk on his bearded face.

It was as though all the breath had been snatched from her lungs; Elektra couldn't even gasp. Her heart thudded in her chest, the sound of it hollow, like a drum. When she was finally able to speak, her voice sounded unsure, weak—two things she definitely did not want to be around the Game. "What are you doing here?"

Triple H raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Last time I checked, sweetheart, it still says 'Evolution' on the door." He took a step forward and Elektra involuntarily drew back, her shoulders colliding with the mirror, hating herself for doing so. "And it's not like I was expecting to find you here." The look on his face, however—a self-satisfied sneer that grew even bigger as he drank in her fear—told her the exact opposite. He had been looking for her, and now he had her cornered, standing between her and the only means of escape.

However, as the seconds crept by, Elektra felt her initial terror dissipate. As intimidating as he was, the Cerebral Assassin couldn't _really_ do anything to her, not unless he was willing to go through a world of pain. He had to know that Batista was coming for her, and that any indication of fear on her face, no matter how small, might be enough to finally turn the Animal against his mentor and leader. Besides, things being the way they were right now, he could not afford to piss Elektra off. A creature forced into a corner is a very dangerous thing, indeed.

The Game must have realized this, because even though his original expression did not waver, he moved back a pace, giving her emotional as well as physical distance. Elektra pushed her body back from the wall, her look of nervous apprehension morphing into one of icy irritation. "What do you want from me, Hunter? Huh? Didn't I make it clear to you that I don't want you anywhere _near_ me?"

Triple H cocked his head to the side. "Funny…you didn't seem to feel that way during the Royal Rumble." Elektra felt a small twinge and knew that he had just scored the first point. The World Heavyweight Champion went on. "But the past aside…I came looking for you because I want to know where you stand on this whole title match issue. Dave's gonna have to make a decision soon, and since you're the person closest to him—" Was there a mocking tone in his voice when he said that? "—You're the one who has the best chance of steering him in the right direction."

Elektra stared at the Game levelly. "And that is?"

The Cerebral Assassin looked downright pleased with himself. "That Batista goes to SmackDown and challenges JBL for the WWE Championship."

The silver-eyed Diva allowed herself a harsh little laugh, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "Of course. Why am I not surprised?" She brought her gaze back down on Triple H, her gray eyes flinty. "Listen, Hunter, there's only one person who knows how I feel about this whole situation, and that's Dave. And as far as I'm concerned, _where I stand_ is none of your goddamn business."

The Game didn't even flinch, as though he had anticipated this response. "I thought you'd say that," he remarked, confirming her observation. He took a step toward her again, but this time, Elektra didn't shy back. "But I don't think you understand just how big of an opportunity this is for your boyfriend. I mean, if he goes to SmackDown and wins the title, then Evolution will control the WWE. You'd be on the arm of a champion; who's going to stop from getting whatever you want…say, another crack at the Women's Championship?" Another step. "Come on, you know that this is what's best. Not just for Batista…but for Evolution."

Elektra almost laughed again when she heard the World Heavyweight Champion's pathetic attempts at bribery. Why did he assume that this kind of persuasion would work on her? The gray-eyed Diva's mouth curled in a derisive smile. "Cut the bullshit, Hunter. I don't care about what's _best_ for Evolution—and neither do you."

Triple H didn't acknowledge this, but subtly switched tactics. "We both know that Theodore Long would love to sign Batista to the SmackDown roster. Who's to say that he can't offer you a contract as well? What's one more Diva on SmackDown, anyway?" The Cerebral Assassin gestured with his free hand. "Think about it: you and Dave would be together, Dave would be Champion, and best of all…you'd get away from me. Isn't that what you've always wanted, babe? To get as far away from me as humanly possible?"

Elektra didn't allow her expression to change, even though she had to admit that the idea was tempting. It was true; there was nothing she desired more than to be completely free of the Game's clutches.

But if she gave in to this temptation, it would be just like running away. If Batista went to SmackDown—even if she went with him, it wouldn't change anything. It would just leave issues unresolved and unfinished, and enable Triple H to once again escape from a much-deserved punishment. If Batista decided to go for the WWE Championship, it would be _his_ decision; she was not going to influence him one way or the other.

The silver-eyed Diva folded her arms over her chest, gazing at the Cerebral Assassin with a look that was half glare, half smirk. "You really don't want to face him…do you?"

It was as though Triple H hadn't even heard her. "I just want what's best for _you_."

In spite of herself, Elektra felt a hot rush of anger at the way he casually tossed off those words. "Oh my God, you fucking liar!" she exclaimed, taking several steps toward him. "When have you _ever_ done what's best for me? Huh? Where was your chivalry back at Vengeance when Orton almost raped me? Or when you beat the hell out of me in the middle of the ring?" She eyed the Champion with obvious dislike. "All you care about is yourself. And unless you've got something else to add, you can get the hell out of my way."

The Game was silent for several second, reaching up to scratch the side of his nose. Just the fact that he had yet to show even a hint of annoyance unnerved Elektra. "One more thing, angel…I've heard that JBL is coming here tonight to confront Batista."

"Good!" The gray-eyed Diva retorted before she could stop herself. "It's about time that jerk-off grew a pair." She stormed toward the door, taking care not to brush against the Cerebral Assassin. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

With one swift motion, Triple H grabbed her upper arm. Even though his hand was warm, Elektra felt like ice water had just been injected into her body. She turned her head slowly to glare at the World Heavyweight Champion, determined not to show how frightened his touch truly made her. "_Let go of me_." she spat.

"A word of advice," The Game's tone was mild, but just like everything that he said, it suggested something more ominous. He looked back at Elektra with what could have been amusement. "I suggest that when JBL arrives tonight, you stay out of his way."

Elektra felt a bead of cold perspiration trickle down her back. "What do you mean?" she asked, making sure not to let her voice betray any of her growing trepidation.

The Cerebral Assassin's tone was still soft, still innocuous. "Those two…they hate each other, and the last place anyone should be is smack in the middle. If JBL comes here and goes after Batista, and you get in his way, not even _I_ might be able to protect you."

There was nothing in his voice…but yet, Elektra heard the menace loud and clear. She took a deep breath, not tearing her eyes from Triple H. "Are you threatening me, Hunter?" she asked, the timbre of her voice reminding him of just what she would do if that were the case.

The Game leaned closer, until his face was only an inch or two from hers. "Let's just say that if anything happens…_don't say that I didn't warn you._"


	50. Chapter 50: Escalating The Game

Chapter 50: Escalating The Game

Elektra pushed open the door, letting it ease shut behind her as she walked quickly down the hall. Thankfully, Triple H didn't follow her. Not that he needed to; he probably knew that, threat or not, his words had shaken her to the core.

Something was happening tonight. Something was going down, and Elektra didn't know how she could stop it. She could lie to herself and say that she was just being paranoid; that there was no telling how much of what the Game had told her had been the truth. But that was how the Cerebral Assassin succeeded at manipulation: by building a brilliant pearl of lies around a single grain of truth. And all the lies in the world could not conceal the fact that JBL had once sneeringly referred to Batista, a _Royal Rumble winner_, as "not in my league".

What if the WWE Champion really _was_ on his way over here? And if there were the case…what was it the Animal had said? _If JBL decides to come here and cut me down...then he and I will have a problem..._

Elektra exhaled slowly. It was a problem, all right. It was a very big problem. When Batista was pushed far enough, he acted without care or concern. She still had the occasional twinge in her back and neck to remain her of that. And if JBL or the Big Show or anyone else from SmackDown kept pushing, not even the assurances Batista had made to her might be enough to keep him from signing that contract, sending him to the other brand…and leaving her alone.

It wasn't a question of her own safety anymore; of what the Legend Killer or the Game would do to her if she was left unprotected. If Batista went to SmackDown, her heart would break. End of story.

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, stopping her in mid-stride. Elektra stiffened for a second, before realizing that it was Batista. He had been coming down the hallway from the opposite direction, and she had been too lost in thought to even notice.

As reading her mind, the Animal murmured into her ear: "And _you_ tell _me _that I'm spacing out." He placed a light kiss on her neck. "How's my girl?"

Elektra smiled, her troubled thoughts flitting away to the back of her mind. "Better…now that you're here." She tilted her face up, lips parted slightly to receive his.

Batista did not disappoint; the kiss he gave her sent heat rushing over every inch of her body. His hands rested at the small of her back; propriety the only thing keeping him from letting them travel lower. Even other WWE Superstars got disgusted by excessive PDA.

His mouth was at her ear again, his voice husky with wordless desire. "It's too bad there're all these people around; I was _really_ hoping to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day?"

Oh, that's right; today was Valentine's Day. Elektra had been so distracted by the events from last week that she had almost forgotten. No, not _almost_. _Had_ forgotten. The silver-eyed Diva felt a sharp twinge of guilt and tried to push it to one side. "Wait until tonight." she whispered, her voice filled with a hunger equal to his.

"Do I have to?" Batista replied, half-jokingly, and Elektra couldn't suppress a throaty chuckle of laughter. Pulling back a little, she met his eyes, running her hands up his chest suggestively, feeling a small thrill at hearing the low groan of need escape from the Animal's throat. Bringing her arms up around his neck, she pressed her body close to his, their mutual desire warming the very air around them.

A long moment passed. The silver-eyed Diva hesitantly cleared her throat, her smile fading a bit. "Listen, Dave, there's something that I need to—"

"Sorry to interrupt," Triple H's voice had the dampening effect of a bucket of cold water. Elektra felt the aura of privacy surrounding her and Batista grow thin and shatter into thousands of pieces. Her facial expression never wavered, but beneath her mild countenance, she wanted to strangle the Game.

The gray-eyed Diva stiffened for a heartbeat, then rotated around, buoyed by the feeling of Batista's hands on her waist. The Animal wrapped his arms tighter around her, his eyes fixed on the Cerebral Assassin.

The World Champion's expression was pleasant, but also maddeningly inscrutable. Whatever he really thought about Batista or Elektra was locked up behind those blank irises, and just the fact that he was able to do so meant that he must be feeling extremely confident.

Elektra couldn't see the Animal's face when he spoke, but she felt reassured by the even tone of his voice. "Something on your mind, Hunter?"

Whatever he saw in Batista's expression must have pleased the Game, because the beginnings of a smile appeared at the edges of his mouth. "JBL, man…what an idiot. Thinking he can come here and throw his weight around." Triple H rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Look, when he shows up tonight…I just want to let you know that I'll take care of it. I mean, you've got a big decision coming up, you've a huge match tonight against Edge…the last thing you need to be worrying up is some jacked-up Texan with delusions of grandeur."

The Cerebral Assassin sighed, shaking his head as though the very idea of John Bradshaw Layfield disgusted him. "That guy just pisses me off—running his mouth, spitting in Evolution's face—"

"Hey!" The Animal's voice was sharp, perhaps too much so. Unawares, he tightened his hold on Elektra. "JBL hasn't been talking trash about Evolution; the only _person_ he's been running his mouth off about is _me_. So as far as I'm concerned, whatever beef Bradshaw has is between him and me. And if he wants to show up here tonight and try to start something, _fine_. But no one else needs to get involved. _Especially_ you." He paused, and Elektra knew that he was fixing the Champion with a stony stare. "Stay out of this, Hunter."

"But—" Triple H didn't get a chance to finish, because Batista took Elektra by the hand and led her in the opposite direction, away from the Game.

The Cerebral Assassin watched them disappear around a corner, his mouth finally curling into that terrible smile.

Batista had just reacted exactly as he'd hoped. Everything was falling perfectly into place.

* * *

The ring shuddered as Edge hit the mat, the victim of a devastating clothesline from the Animal. All around the arena, the multitude of fans oohed and cheered. The Canadian Superstar had been a pain in everyone's ass for the past five months, with his constant whining about being screwed out of the World Heavyweight Championship. Even though Batista was still technically part of Evolution, and even though he had interfered on behalf of Triple H during the Game's title bout in Japan the previous week, no one was protesting the well-deserved ass-whipping he was currently bestowing on Edge.

Elektra clapped her hands in encouragement, barely aware that she was doing so. Her body was running on autopilot; her mind thousands of miles away from the match. She could see everything around her—the gleaming white canvas, the bright red ropes, the two Superstars within the confines of the ring—she saw all of it and yet none of it at the same time. The only things she was aware of, the only things that seemed real to her, were a handful of words and sensations as dark and ominous as storm clouds gathering overhead.

_This is between him and me…_

_If something happens tonight…_

_Stay out of this, Hunter…_

_Don't say I didn't warn you…_

Unconsciously, Elektra touched her upper arm, where the Cerebral Assassin had grabbed her, as though his finger marks had been seared into her flesh. Her silvery gaze swept over to the adjacent side of the ring where the Game stood, one hand on the apron, one hand on his title belt, bellowing out occasional instructions to Batista. Elektra stared at him for several long seconds, vaguely aware that doing so would look very strange on camera. Just the fact that he was out here made her nervous, even though the match was for nothing bigger than sheer pride. She didn't know what he was thinking; what he was planning to do. For all she knew, he was going to try and lob another steel chair into the ring. And he was always so damned confident now. She could hear it in his voice, see it when he moved; that familiar swagger that he had possessed in the beginning of their relationship. Somehow, in the weeks since the Royal Rumble, all his fear, all his uncertainty of the Animal had disappeared.

Elektra could feel a faint throbbing in her temples. She wanted to press both hands over her ears, as though doing so would drown out the sound of Triple H's voice, its raspy timbre reverberating in her head. Sometimes, it seemed like the Game's voice was all she heard nowadays, always there to offer a new opinion, a new insight, a new reason why Batista should go to SmackDown. And now it was warning her not to get in the middle of a confrontation involving the Animal and JBL. No, not warning—_threatening_. But who was the bigger threat? JBL...or Triple H?

The silver-eyed Diva found herself wishing, hoping, _praying_ that the WWE Champion would not come here. That the Cerebral Assassin was wrong, that whatever rumor he'd heard was just that—a rumor. Because if something happened tonight, she knew that no one, not even her, would be able to hold back Batista—and someone would definitely get hurt.

A fresh wave of cheers exploded in her ears, startling her back to the present. Elektra's pale eyes widened and she quickly looked back toward the ring, her focus momentarily on the match at hand. Edge was still where she remembered him: lying face-down on the mat, an ungainly mass of limbs and long blond hair. But Batista's attention was no longer on the Canadian Superstar, but rather on the Titanton. He stared at the screen without speaking, breathing hard, his sharp-featured face filled with angry bewilderment.

Elektra felt her heart plummet into her stomach. The moment she was dreading had arrived. Turning her head slowly, almost expecting to hear her neck muscles creak, she looked up at the massive video screen. It was exactly as she'd feared; the scene before her showed the entrance to the arena's parking garage, and pulling into it, enlarged to almost gigantic proportions, was the unmistakable sight of JBL's long white limousine, its hood decorated with its trademark longhorns. The gray-eyed Diva's mouth suddenly went dry.

No one moved; it was as though the sight of the WWE Champion's limo had turned everyone to stone. Then a figure emerged at the top of the ramp. For one awful second, Elektra thought it was JBL, somehow magically transported here from the confines of his luxury vehicle with the sole intent of wreaking havoc. But the second passed and she soon realized that the figure was only Flair, gesturing wildly at his Evolution cohorts. His frantic motions had two effects: they slammed home the fact that this was really happening, and they broke everyone's shared paralysis. Batista was the first to move, maneuvering between the top and middle rope and jumping down to the floor. He strode up the ramp, not acknowledging anybody or anything, not even really acknowledging the Nature Boy.

Elektra didn't move for several seconds; her body still seemed to be ignoring all commands from her brain. She could only watch helplessly as the Animal moved farther and farther away from her, his mind focused on the WWE Champion. Then she saw Triple H head up the ramp after Batista, and her frozen limbs sprang back into life. Walking quickly, then running, she chased after the Animal, hoping to catch him before he went through with this, hoping to stop him before he made a big mistake. "Dave!" she cried out, but the crowd drowned out her words. "Dave, stop!" If Batista could even hear her, he gave no sign; the enormous dragon tattoo covering his back remained the only thing in her line of sight.

The four of them—Flair, Batista, Elektra, and finally Triple H—pushed through the curtain into the gorilla area, almost tumbling over one another and knocking down a road agent or two in the process. Elektra finally reached the Animal, grabbing his left arm with both hands, trying to turn him toward her, trying to get him to see her before that red mist clamped down over his eyes. "Dave…please…stop—" she gasped, unable to even form complete sentences.

Batista turned toward her, and Elektra drew her breath in sharply. His expression had completely shut down, his eyes dark pieces of flint glaring accusingly at her. There was no recognition, no warmth, no _anything_ in his face. In that moment, she wasn't the woman that he loved…she was just another obstacle standing in his way.

The silver-eyed Diva slowly released her grip, moving back a step. "_Dave_?" she whispered, the first tears beginning to sting her eyes. For a second, there was no response, then all of a sudden, the Animal's face cleared, like a cloud moving aside to reveal the sun. The light came back in his eyes. Elektra felt her body relax. He was seeing her, _really_ seeing her.

Reaching out with both hands, Batista grabbed her shoulders hard, almost hard enough to hurt. "Stay here." he ordered.

Elektra frowned. "But—" she started to protest.

"Elektra, _please_," There was a pleading note in the Animal's voice, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw—behind the anger—something very near desperation. "For once, would you just do what I say and _stay here_?" He brought his hands up to her face in a gesture of tenderness. "_Please_." he repeated. Then, dropping his hands back down his sides, he tore his gaze away from her face and stormed away down the hall, Flair and the Game in hot pursuit.

Elektra breathed in, the sound ragged and shaky in her ears. She was very near to tears, and below her, her legs were trembling, threatening to send her tumbling to the floor. Everything was moving too fast, everything was spiraling out of control. She couldn't think straight, didn't know what to do next. Her mind was racing. Why would JBL show up here tonight, for no reason? Batista hadn't challenged the WWE Champion publicly, hadn't shown up on SmackDown and called JBL out. And JBL was a coward. He didn't accept challenges; he ran from them until he had no other alternative. So why had he come to Raw to confront the Animal?

The silver-eyed Diva almost let out a cry of frustration. Who cared about _why_; right now, Batista was on his way to the parking garage to confront the WWE Champion, and if she didn't stop him, everything they had suffered so far would have been for nothing. The Animal had told her to stay…but that didn't mean she had to listen.

_Dave Batista, as good as he is, is not in my league…_

_I'm not going anywhere…_

_If something happens tonight, don't say I didn't warn you…_

_Would you listen to me for once and stay here…_

_Don't say I didn't warn you…_

Elektra shook her head violently. "Fuck this," she muttered to herself, and headed off down the hallway.

* * *

It didn't take her long to catch up with the three Superstars; she had just turned a corner when she saw Batista, Triple H and Flair near the far end of a corridor. Behind then, an "EXIT" sign glowed over a closed door. Elektra presumed that it opened up into the garage.

The Animal seemed to be issuing a similar directive to the one he had given her, albeit—since this _was_ the Cerebral Assassin he was talking to—much less polite. "—I'm serious, Hunter, _stay out of this_." Batista glanced over his shoulder at the door as he spoke, his last words more to himself than to the other two men. "I'm gonna take care of this myself." He broke off and walked toward the door.

Elektra didn't wait another moment; she dashed after him. She had just passed the Game and the Nature Boy when Triple H's hand shot out, catching her in mid-step, snapping her back like a rubber band and almost jerking her off her feet. The gray-eyed Diva whirled around, glaring balefully at the World Heavyweight Champion.

"You heard him; he wants to take care of this himself," the Game replied, answering her unspoken question. Behind his mask of angry indignation, there was a smugness in his expression that made Elektra want to throw up. He seemed to be taking satisfaction in delivering this message to her. The Cerebral Assassin tilted his head to the side, peering at her with a kind of curiousity. "Didn't he tell you to stay put?"

Elektra didn't offer a response. Instead, she kicked out. The heel of her shoe connected with the side of the Champion's left kneecap. Triple H's almost-smirk vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain. His leg buckled and he dropped to one knee, letting go of her in the process. The silver-eyed Diva didn't even stop to show her satisfaction at seeing the Game in agony, but ran toward the exit door.

Triple H looked up sharply, wincing as he massaged his throbbed knee with one hand. His face was twisted in a snarl of hatred. "_Bitch_!" he growled.

But Elektra was beyond caring.

The security door was swinging closed; she pushed it back open with the palm of her hand, stepping out onto the landing. A short flight of steps led down to the garage area, the street entrance only ten or twenty feet away. Batista had already reached the floor and was striding across the short expanse of concrete. "JBL!" he roared. "Where are you, huh? Come on out!"

The first thing Elektra registered was that JBL's limo, parked in plain sight a few minutes ago, was now nowhere to be seen. The second was that it was dark, the only real light coming from the streetlamps outside. The third was that, with the exception of Batista's shouting, it was quiet.

Way too quiet.

The gray-eyed Diva took the stairs two at a time, sliding a little on the cement floor, but not losing her balance. She followed the Animal, her pace slowed, her gaze sweeping the space for any sign of the WWE Champion. If JBL was here, he must have the concealing abilities of a ninja, because she couldn't detect even a flicker of movement to indicate that someone else was there.

And yet…the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up. Something was here, something was imminent, and her unconscious mind knew it, even if her conscious one didn't. Elektra quickened her pace, bringing her almost within arms length of the Animal.

The two of them ground to a halt outside a long enclosed storage area, its interior dark. Batista looked back and forth, his breathing hard. "Where are you?" he demanded, his voice softer but no less enraged. He turned around, noticing Elektra for the first time. His brow creased in confusion. "Baby, what—"

The headlights flew on, blinding both of them. Elektra swung her arm to shield her eyes, and with a sickening jolt of horror, heard the squeal of tires as the limo sped toward them.

She knew that what happened next had to have taken only fractions of seconds, but to her, in that moment, it seemed like forever. Without hesitating, Elektra closed the distance between her and Batista, and shoved him back as hard as she could. Normally, she never would have been able to budge him—there was a two-hundred-pound weight difference between them—but whether through his shock, her adrenaline, or some combination of the two, she somehow pushed him out of the path of the speeding vehicle. Almost in slow motion, she saw Batista fall backward onto a pile of empty boxes, a stunned expression on his face. He reached toward her, but Elektra was already looking back toward the limo bearing down on her, its headlights like the glowing eyes of a beast—

And then it was too late.

The car struck the silver-eyed Diva at mid-thigh, throwing her forward onto the hood of the limo. Her abdomen connected with the middle of the longhorn ornament, knocking the air from her lungs. She didn't have time to bring her arms up to protect her face, and her head bounced off the hood's surface, sending a lightning bolt of pain and wooziness through her brain. She felt a rush of heat surging up from the engine.

Just as quickly, though, the limo was slamming on its brakes. The sudden shift in momentum sent Elektra flying, off the hood and through the air. She saw the ground rushing up toward her in a dizzying blur, and then came the impact, her body colliding painfully with the unyielding concrete.

For just a heartbeat, all the world was still, and then everything rushed back in: the pain, the noise, the rush of air past her face as the limo sped around her limp form and out into the street.

Elektra blinked, trying to peer through the veil of dizziness covering her eyes. The whole world had turned sideways, and all the shapes were blurring together, like watercolors on a canvas. Dully, she registered the sound of running footsteps, and then something was crouching down in front of her. With an extraordinary effort, Elektra turned her head a little to the side, squinting up at the form above her.

All she saw was a figure outlined in orange and yellow light. She felt a hand gently touch her cheek and knew that it was Batista. Even though it hurt, she smiled. "You're…you're all right," she slurred. Her voice sounded strange to her ears; just a cracked whisper, hardly a voice at all.

"Elektra?" Batista's hand was still on her face, his fingers caressing her cheek. "Elektra, don't try and talk, okay? Just look at me, all right? Look at me." His other hand closed around hers. The Animal turned around, looking at people that she couldn't see. "What the _fuck_ are you standing there for? Get a goddamn medic over here!"

For Elektra, everything was a dreamy haze of pain, and just beyond it, at the edges of her vision, an ever-growing darkness. With another burst of effort, she squeezed Batista's hand. "I'm…just glad…" She paused, trying to talk through a mouth as dry as sandpaper. "Just glad…that you're…all right." She fell silent, her energy exhausted. The blackness began to unfold, stretching out like a blanket, ready to enfold her in its embrace of oblivion. Elektra closed her eyes. She was so tired, and it would so easy just to fall asleep and dream of nothing…

"Elektra!" The Animal's hand clenched hers, almost crushing it. "No, baby, don't—stay with me! Elektra, _stay with me_!"

But darkness had already overtaken her.


	51. Chapter 51: Crashing SmackDown

Chapter 51: Crashing SmackDown

Batista paced across the hospital waiting room, hands clasped behind his head. The past few hours had been a blur, and he was only now starting to take notice of his surroundings. When the ambulance had arrived and the paramedics had loaded the stretcher containing the unconscious form of Elektra into the back, Batista had climbed in with them, mindless of the fact that he was still clad in his wrestling gear. The first paramedic to suggest that he might be more comfortable if he changed and followed behind in his car was met with a wordless glare. It may have been a tight fit in the back of the ambulance, but the Animal was not going to leave Elektra's side for even a second.

When they arrived at the hospital, Batista was forced to stay behind in the waiting room while they wheeled Elektra into the treatment area. He had caught one final glimpse of her beautiful wan face before the double doors swung shut, severing her from his view. Flair had arrived ten minutes later with a change of clothes and a sandwich. The Animal had taken the clothes, but disregarded the sandwich. Right now, food was the last thing on his mind.

The Nature Boy was sitting in one of the waiting area chairs a few feet away. He appeared to be reading a magazine, but judging by the fact that he hadn't turned a page in the past twenty minutes, he was just as worried about Elektra as Batista was. They weren't the only ones; Trish Stratus was sitting on the other side of the room, a zip-up sweatshirt thrown on over her wrestling attire. She was staring at her hands, which she kept wringing together in her lap. Next to her was Chris Jericho, who had his arm wrapped protectively around the shaking shoulders of the Women's Champion.

Triple H, for once, was absent. Whether he knew he wasn't welcome or whether he just didn't care--either way, his presence was not missed.

All of them were sharing the same barrage of wild thoughts and emotions, but none felt them more keenly than the Animal. To Batista, this was just like another Monday night, a cool one in Austin, Texas, where he had stood in the ring, staring speechlessly down at the senseless form of the woman he loved. Just like then, Elektra had fallen victim to a champion looking to exert power. And just like then, Batista had been unable to save her.

Okay, maybe he hadn't tiger-bombed her this time around, but he had still watched, helpless, as that limousine slammed into her, hurling her across the parking lot. The Animal wondered vaguely when it would be his turn to put his body on the line for her, to protect her as he had swore he'd always do. Common sense told him that he should be thankful for escaping without even a scraped limb. Like every other Superstar, his physical health was his livelihood—but at what price?

What could the main event at Wrestlemania possibly be worth if it meant sacrificing Elektra in the process?

There was a soft creak of hinges as one of the double doors swung open, and the emergency room physician—who looked like he was still in high school—stepped out. The three Superstars and one Diva all snapped to attention, rising to their feet in anticipation. The doctor swept his gaze over all of them, his eyes lingering perhaps a little bit longer on Trish (but really, who could blame him?) before falling back down to his clipboard. "Which one of you is Dave?" he asked.

Batista quickly stepped forward, taking care not to knock over the physician in his eagerness for news on Elektra. "Right here."

The doctor looked up again, registering the Animal's size and build for the first time. "Holy crap, she wasn't kidding," he remarked with only a hint of surprise. He tucked the clipboard under his arm. "She's been asking for you. Follow me." The physician turned to go.

"What about the rest of us?" Trish's voice was the complete opposite of what it was in the ring: quiet, but filled with worry and concern. She moved toward the doctor, crossing both arms over her chest. "Do we get to see her?"

Whether it was the emotion in her voice or just the fact that Trish was one of the most beautiful women in the world; either way, the physician's face relaxed. "Let's see how she deals with one visit. If it doesn't tire her out, I won't object it, as long as you do it one at a time and keep it to five minutes. Okay?"

Trish didn't answer; just nodded. She stepped back to stand next to Jericho, who put his arm around her shoulders again.

The doctor looked at Batista again. "This way." Turning around, he pushed open the double doors and stepped through, the Animal following him. The physician waited for him to catch up, then extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Kline, by the way. I'm the physician on duty."

Batista shook his hand distractedly. "How is she, Doc?" he asked.

The urgency in his voice must have been evident, because Dr. Kline didn't waste any more time on pleasantries. The doctor took a deep breath. "Okay, here goes." He began ticking items off on his fingers. "The majority of her injuries were sustained on the left side of her body; I understand that's where the vehicle struck her. Her left leg is broken in two places. Ligament damage in her left knee. Dislocated shoulder. Severely sprained wrist. Three cracked ribs; two on the left, one on the right. A moderate concussion. Add to that some mild abrasions and bruises and you've got yourself one lucky young lady."

The Anima's head was spinning from the laundry list of injuries he had just been given. For a few moments, he couldn't speak. All he could see was Elektra lying on the pavement, her silver eyes rolling back into her head as she lapsed into unconsciousness, the screech of tires fading into the distance. After what felt like an eternity, he finally found his voice. "_Lucky_?" he managed to say. "Tell me what's so lucky about a broken leg and cracked ribs." He realized he was dangerously close to shouting and lowered his tone. "She could have been killed."

"That's exactly my point," Dr. Kline's voice was soft, but incredibly sure of itself. "She _could_ have been killed. People involved in collisions like that _have_ been killed. If the impact with the vehicle doesn't do the job, the impact with the ground does. But with the exception of the concession, your girlfriend doesn't seem to have sustained any major injuries to her head, neck or spine. We did a CAT-scan, MRI—everything looks clear. We're checking for any internal injuries, but that looks like another big no. In short, Elektra is damn lucky to be alive."

As he spoke, the doctor began walking again, halting outside a recovery room when he came to the end of his speech. The door to the room was closed. Dr. Kline glanced at it, then back at the Animal. "Ideally, I'd like her to stay here a day or two, just so we can properly treat all of her known injuries and catch any that we don't know about yet. However, ever since she regained consciousness, she's been telling me that that's not an option." He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe _you_ can convince her."

Batista must have made a face at this suggestion because the doctor burst out laughing. "My wife's the same way," he admitted. "Good luck." With that as conclusion, he turned the handle on the door and motioned the Animal into the room, closing it quietly behind him to give him and Elektra privacy.

Batista didn't even register the sound of the tumbler clicking into place. The moment he stepped over the threshold, all of his focus had been drawn to the figure lying on the hospital bed.

Elektra's complexion was ashen, and there were lavender-colored circles under her closed eyes. Her dark hair, so carefully coiffed at the arena, was now spread out loose across the pillow. There was a sheet draped over the right half of her body, leaving the bulky black cast on her left leg, and the smaller one on her left wrist, in full display. Just seeing her lying there like that made Batista feel more helpless than he ever had in his life, and he couldn't stop tears from stinging his eyes. "I did this," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I brought you into this." Moving to her side, he knelt down and took her uninjured hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, tears now sliding down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry…"

On the bed, Elektra stirred. "Dave?" Her voice was weak, almost a whisper.

The Animal practically sprang to his feet, just in time to see her open her eyes, those beautiful pale eyes that lit up the moment they saw him. He tried to speak, and found that he couldn't; his throat was too choked with emotion. Instead, he bent down and gently kissed her forehead, then her lips. He pulled back a little, gazing at the contours of cheekbone and chin that he knew so well. "Hey, baby," he murmured tenderly.

"Hey," Elektra replied, her mouth curving into a subdued version of her usual radiant smile. For a moment, they remained like that, drinking in the nearness of each other. Finally, Batista pulled back and moved away, but only so he could grab a nearby chair and drag it next to the bed. He sat down, taking her hand in his once again.

"So," he eventually said, gently entwining his fingers through hers. "I know that I'm going to sound like the biggest asshole for asking, but…how do you feel?"

Elektra let loose a soft burst of laughter, which quickly died as her face creased in a grimace of pain. "Well…as you can see, it hurts to breathe, I can't feel my leg or my arm, and my head is killing me. The good news is they just gave me a shot of pain meds. The bad news is that I'm probably going to get loopy in a few minutes, so I better make this quick." Her ghost of a smile disappeared. "Dave, I'm so sorry. What I put you through—"

Batista reached over and pressed his fingers to her lips. "Shhh…" he interjected soothingly. "Don't talk, just rest, okay?"

"No!" With some effort, Elektra pushed his hand away. Batista sat back, stunned by the intensity burning in her eyes. More than just intensity—there was fear. Fear of the accident…or of something else? The Animal quickly gave himself a mental kick. Elektra had just been hit by a _limousine_, for God's sakes; had probably seen her goddamn life pass before her eyes. She had every right to be terrified.

Her gray, fear-filled irises bored into his. "You don't understand; this is _my_ fault! If I had just listened to you—"

"If you had listened to me," Batista interrupted, his tone bordering on harsh. "I would be the one lying in a hospital bed tonight." His features softened. "You saved my life—don't you get that? _You saved my life_." He moved closer, reaching out to take her hand a third time. "I just wish that it didn't have to happen this way."

"But—" Elektra started to say.

"No buts," the Animal interjected firmly. "As far as I'm concerned, there's only one person at fault here." His expression darkened. "And that's JBL." He paused, reaching over to brush some hair from Elektra's forehead with his free hand. "And tomorrow night, I'm gonna go to his show…and I'm gonna hurt him." He pressed her hand to his lips. "I'm gonna make him pay for what he did to you."

Elektra didn't answer, and when Batista looked up, he saw that her eyes had closed. His mouth curled into a smile. Guess the pain meds had finally kicked in. Rather than disturb her, he stood and laid one final kiss on her forehead. Letting go off her hand reluctantly, he moved toward the door. After one more longing look, he turned the handle and stepped out into the hall.

As soon as the door closed, Elektra opened her eyes. Batista had been half-right: the pain meds _were_ kicking in, but she was a ways from sleep. Instead, her mind, teetering on the edges of logical thought, played over Batista's promise to her.

_I'm gonna make him pay for what he did to you…_

They were words that she had heard from the Animal before—only then, he had been referring to Triple H.

As she drifted off into a dreamlike state between sleep and awake, Elektra wondered if her intervention had created the catalyst for Batista she had been dreading.

* * *

Upon coaxing from the Animal, Elektra remained in the hospital for another day. During that time, Batista did indeed go to SmackDown, and as he had promised, he did cause JBL some pain. Upon arrival at the arena in Cleveland, where the taping was taking place, the Animal's first order of business had been to attack the vehicle responsible for so much suffering—JBL's limousine. He had accomplished this with an aluminum bat to all ten of the limo's windows. He had then run out to the SmackDown ring to confront the man himself, but unfortunately, the WWE Champion was able to slither out of harm's way, leaving his Cabinet behind to deal with the raging Batista. The Animal made short work of Orlando Jordan and the Bashams, but could only glare at the huge Texan as he fled toward the back.

Elektra heard all this after she finally emerged from her semiconscious haze brought on by the pain medication. And while Batista couldn't hold back the triumph in his voice as he recounted his destruction of JBL's personal property, he also couldn't disguise his dissatisfaction, his disappointment that he hadn't made the WWE Champion truly pay for his actions on Monday night.

"He says he didn't have anything to do with the accident," he told Elektra with evident disgust. "But trust me, baby, the guy's a liar." That was why, he added, he was going to be there at No Way Out on Sunday. One way or another, he was going to make his presence felt on the Thursday night franchise.

Elektra didn't say very much at that. Perhaps the one good thing about being injured was that you weren't expected to say very much. But deep inside her brain, where even Batista could not penetrate, she was screaming. Screaming because the Animal was targeting the wrong Champion. Screaming because she couldn't say or do anything to stop it.

Screaming because a month ago, she hadn't looked Batista in the eye and said "Triple H paid Randy Orton to hurt you."

What made it even harder to bear was that when he wasn't talking about punishing the WWE Champion, Batista was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. When Elektra was released from the hospital on Wednesday afternoon, Batista accompanied her back to her home in Maryland. The gray-eyed Diva protested at first, but in the end, was glad that he did. Until her wrist and shoulder healed, she was confined to a wheelchair, since she couldn't support herself on crutches. And no matter how many times the Animal had to carry her or the chair up steps, he never complained; only made the occasional joke about how heavy she was getting.

Those two days together were filled with such sweetness that Elektra genuinely wished that Friday would never roll around. Unfortunately, it did, and she found herself boarding an early morning flight with Batista to Michigan. After being involved in such a horrific accident, no one would have judged Elektra harshly if she had chosen to stay home that week. After all, with a broken leg and multiple other injuries, there was no way she could even be at ringside, let alone wrestle. But Elektra had been wrestling for so long that skipping was not an option, even if the extent of her involvement would be to sit backstage in front of a monitor all night. Besides, as she told Batista on Thursday morning while he was brushing his teeth, she was coming with him to No Way Out.

The Animal spat the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, and walked out into the bedroom to stare at her slack-jawed. "You're not serious—" he began.

Elektra had been lying down, but when Batista spoke, she pushed herself up to a sitting position with her good arm. "Dave," she interjected in a quiet voice, her silver gaze unwavering. "_I'm coming with you_." The undercurrent in her voice left no room for negotiation.

Now, three days later, at the Mellon Arena, reclining in a private room requisitioned by Theodore Long, the gray-eyed Diva wondered exactly _why_ she was here. She supposed that yes, a small part of her _did_ want to see John Bradshaw Layfield pay. But it was only a tiny part, and try as she might, she couldn't muster up any real feelings of hatred for the WWE Champion. She disliked him, that was true, but JBL had never terrorized her the way Triple H had.

Whenever she thought of Bradshaw, all she saw was a SmackDown contract with Batista's signature adorning the bottom. _That_ scared her more than the memory of those headlights bearing down on her.

Elektra sighed, leaning her head back against the padded armrest of the couch. The room was tastefully decorated; a small table in the corner holding bottled water and snacks, and a television monitor turned to the pay-per-view. When they had arrived, Batista had wheeled her in, moved her to the sofa, checked to make sure she had everything she could possibly need within easy reach, and then disappeared to some other part of the arena to bide his time and wait for the ideal moment to exact his revenge. Unfortunately, this meant leaving Elektra alone with her thoughts, which was the _last _thing she wanted at this particular point in time.

There was a knock at the door. The silver-eyed Diva looked toward it with some surprise. "Come in," she called.

The door opened and John Cena stuck his head in. His face lit up in a grin when he saw her. "Score! Right place!" He pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room. Elektra immediately noticed the stuffed bear nestled in his massive arms. A string tied to the bear's paw led up to a large silver balloon bouncing against the ceiling with the words "GET WELL SOON" written on it.

Cena noticed the line of her gaze and looked down. "As you probably guessed, this is for you." He walked over and bent down to hand the bear to her. "Me and a couple of the other guys chipped in. Just a way of letting you know that we're not all bad here on SmackDown." He paused. "Since, from the way things seem to be going, your boyfriend is headed here real soon."

Elektra's features, which had relaxed into a smile at the sight of the gift, crumpled with misery when Cena uttered those words. It was as though the Doctor of Thuganomics had just fired a bullet into her heart. Raising both hands to her face, she burst into tears.

Cena's cocky grin instantly vanished, replaced by a look of worry. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry! I was just kidding! I didn't mean—" He broke off and knelt down beside her, reaching over to gently touch the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," he said again. Elektra didn't respond, just continued to sob. Cena touched her hand again. "Look, whatever bothering you, it's gonna be all right—"

"No, it isn't!" Elektra brought down her hands with such ferocity that she accidently smacked Cena's. The United States Champion brought his hands down, but didn't say anything. He was still a little stunned by the force of emotion that was pouring out of the gray-eyed Diva. Elektra continued. "It's not _all right_! It'll never be _all right_! Everything in my life is falling apart, and it's all my fault—"

"What, you mean it's your fault that JBL mistook you for a speed bump?" Cena interrupted, but Elektra didn't seem to hear. She gestured wildly with her uninjured hand.

"He's here tonight because of me. He's _going to war _tonight because of me." She stopped and looked at Cena. "And I can't even tell him. I can't even tell him the truth—"

"Then tell _me_!" the Doctor of Thuganomics interjected before he could stop himself. "Tell me before you go beating yourself up any more than you already have." He paused and lowered his voice. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. It's none of my business. But it doesn't take a genius to see that something's eating away at you, and it's going to kill you if you don't say anything." Impulsively, he touched her shoulder. "You can trust me." he finished.

Elektra looked at him, at those blue eyes full of concern and openness, and the next thing she knew, she was telling Cena everything. _Everything_. Meeting Triple H. Falling in love with Batista. Her eviction from Evolution. Her constant struggle to stay one mental step ahead of the Cerebral Assassin. And finally, her unholy deal with the one man she truly despised, all for the sake of Batista.

"…If he goes to SmackDown, it'll be because I never said anything," she said in conclusion. "But if I tell him…he'll never forgive me…and that'll be even worse than him leaving." She looked over at Cena, reading the expression on his face. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that because he power-bombed me once, he can hurt me again. Listen to me," With some effort, she pulled herself up to a sitting position. She fixed her gaze on Cena. "Dave has _never_ hit me. Not once, not ever. He was the one person who was there for me when no one cared. He is the one good thing in my life. I know that you can only think of the violence, but you have to understand that he is a much better person than you are willing to give him credit for."

Cena was silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his words were few. "Then tell him the truth."

Elektra blinked. "But I can't! He'll—"

"If he loves you as much as you say he does, he'll forgive you." the United States Champion interrupted. "He'll be angry at first, but he'll forgive you." He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "Either way, the truth has got to be better than the guilt."

Elektra stared back at him for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "You're right," She started to add something, but instead merely repeated her previous statement. "You're right."

Cena smiled, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Just remember, you've always got a friend for you here on SmackDown."

* * *

Batista didn't express his exhilaration in words, but Elektra could feel it emanating off of him like heat. When they were safely in the hotel room, and he had carefully lifted her from the wheelchair onto the bed, he sat down next to her. Taking her face in both of his hands, he kissed her, a long passionate kiss that swept the air from her lungs. When they finally broke apart for air, he embraced her gently, holding her against his chest. "It's over, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with undisguised pleasure. "Between what Big Show did to JBL inside that steel cage and what me and Cena did to him outside the cage, it'll be a while before he'll be bothering anybody." His tone grew sober. "He'll never hurt you again."

"Hmm..." Elektra murmured. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots, dreading the anticipation of this moment as much as the moment itself.

Batista frowned, looking down at her. "Elektra? Are you all right? You've been preoccupied ever since we left the arena."

Elektra sighed. It was now or never, and it had to be now, because she couldn't live anymore with never. Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the Animal's embrace, staring into his face with pale eyes full of nervousness and sorrow. "Dave," she said slowly, her voice a hair above a whisper. "There's something I have to tell you..."


	52. Chapter 52: Should Have Told You

Chapter 52: Should Have Told You

Batista frowned. "Tell me what, baby?"

His use of the more affectionate term "baby", hit Elektra like a cheap shot to the stomach. The gray-eyed Diva felt her body rebelling against her, trying to keep her from speaking, trying to convince her that silence was her best recourse. But in her heart, she knew that this was her only option, because she would never be able to live with herself otherwise.

Elektra wanted to stand, to pace back and forth. She wanted space between her and Batista when she dropped this bombshell. But thanks to a speeding limousine, that was impossible, and so she had no other choice but to remain where she was, hands in her lap, eyes on the Animal's face.

Incredibly, the first words out of her mouth were the last ones she'd ever expected to say: "I kissed Randy Orton because he said that he'd help me."

Shock flashed across Batista's face like a bolt of lightning and his mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments as he struggled to find words. "_What_?" he finally sputtered, unable to vocalize anymore than that.

Elektra was just as surprised by her statement as he was, but she rushed on before apprehension could silence her again. "The second time, I did it to hurt you, but the first time…I swear, I only did it because I really thought that he would help me." She knew that she was babbling, but she couldn't stop. Didn't _want_ to stop. "I didn't know what he was planning…or what would happen."

She paused, momentarily drained of speech. The shock was waning from the Animal's face, replaced by a plethora of conflicting emotions. When he spoke again, his voice shook with barely controlled feeling. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because we never talk about it!" Elektra blurted out, emotion coloring her own words. "We act like everything's okay now—and it's not!" She hesitated, but only for a moment this time. "And because it's not the only time I've done something I regretted and told myself I was doing it for you."

As soon as she said this, she knew that she had his full attention. Batista moved back a little, either giving her room to speak or merely putting distance between the two of them. Elektra didn't know which it was, and hoped that when she was finished, it wouldn't be the latter. He didn't speak; only stared at her intently.

She looked away, her pale eyes focusing on the nightstand, the chair in the corner, her own lap; anything but the Animal's face. "I don't know what Hunter is planning to do tomorrow. I know that the last person he wanted to face for the title is you; that's why he's been urging you to go to SmackDown." She knew that she was merely stating the obvious and almost grimaced at her approach. Dancing around the truth was not going to make her tell it any faster. With a tremendous effort, she looked into Batista's eyes, into rich dark irises full of love and concern for her. "The last time Triple H faced you in a title match, he tried to end your career." She saw the Animal's face crease with confusion, and realized that she had no other choice but to just spill the truth. "He paid Randy Orton to take you out."

As soon as the words left her lips, a great weight lifted from her heart. _I guess the truth really does set you free…_Elektra though to herself, then felt a cold hand squeeze her heart as rage darkened Batista's face. Anger at the Game…or at her?

"I don't know the exact amount; I heard it was in the thousands," She knew that she was just trying to fill the void, trying to defuse the bomb before it exploded. "Money, a title shot…and me." She smiled bitterly. "Good old Hunter; he always knows how to throw a clincher into a deal."

Batista pushed himself to his feet, pacing the distance between the bed and the far wall. His expression was tight with fury. Elektra shrank back a little as he neared her, realizing only after several seconds that he was staring not at her, but at the unseen form of the World Heavyweight Champion.

"That _fucker_!" he growled between clenched teeth. "I knew he was capable of some pretty sick shit, but _this…_this changes everything." He abruptly stopped in front of Elektra, kneeling down to her level. As soon as his eyes lighted on her face, the anger in his features dissipated. He reached out and put both hands on her face. "Baby, where did you hear this?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of concern.

Elektra swallowed back tears, and with some reluctance, took hold of his hands and pulled them away from her face. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," Her voice cracked, but she didn't allow herself to cry. Instead, she met his eyes with all the inner strength she possessed. "I've known since New Year's Revolution."

For a moment, Batista's expression didn't change. It was as though he hadn't heard her. Then, as this revelation sank in, his countenance slowly changed from loving to something cold and distant. He pulled his hands from her lap, and rose to his feet, taking a step back from her. All his movements were slow, so terrifyingly slow. For the first time in a long time, Elektra found herself afraid of him. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his face, from that chilling absence of emotion.

"I wanted to tell you," she heard herself say, as though from a great distance. Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her ears. "I was _going_ to tell you, but then I decided it would be better if I—"

"If you what?" Batista interrupted, his tone brusque. "If you kept your mouth shut? If you pretended that it didn't happen?"

"It wasn't like that!" Elektra protested. "I made a deal with Hunter…" Her voice trailed off into silence as she realized the implications of this.

Batista chuckled humorlessly. "Of course, it's always about Hunter," His voice was soft; she couldn't tell whether he was speaking to her or to himself. "Everything _always_ comes back to Hunter." His smile evaporated and his eyes locked on hers again. "Did you fuck him?"

Elektra was so shocked that for a second she couldn't breathe. It felt like someone had wrapped their hands around her lungs and squeezed. The shock was temporary; oxygen rushed back into her body and she was able to gasp: "_What_?"

"I'm not stupid, Elektra; I know how your little 'deals' with Hunter have worked in the past," The Animal's voice was emotionless. He spoke very slowly, as though he was dealing with a small child. "_Did…you…fuck…him_?"

Elektra didn't answer at first. Instead, she used her good arm to push herself to her feet. Wobbling unsteadily, she hobbled across the few feet separating her and Batista. She stopped right in front of him and with her uninjured hand, slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Batista's hand snapped sharply to the right, but his expression didn't change.

"How _dare_ you!" The silver-eyed Diva's voice was hoarse and bordering on a scream. Her injured ribs were crying out in pain, but she ignored them, focusing all of her attention on the massive form of the Animal. "_How dare you_! I know I did a shitty thing, but how can you _say _that—"

"I don't know!" Batista's voice was a roar, drowning out hers. "Maybe because I just found out that you've been lying to my face for the past month! Maybe because I just _found out_ that you made a deal _behind my back_ with the man who made your life a living hell!"

Elektra's features sagged, the anger transforming into misery. "Dave, please," she pleaded, her voice falling in volume. "Let me explain—"

"What's there to explain?" Batista took another step away from her. His face was flushed with emotion. "You found out that Triple H paid another Superstar to end my career, and instead of telling me, you made a bargain with the man responsible." His mouth curved into a mockery of a smile. "Real simple concept. Even a big dumb animal like me can understand that."

Elektra didn't know how to respond to this, but still she pressed on. "Please—"

"Since I'm just a big dumb animal," Batista went on, still smiling that awful smile. "You can remind me what it was that you told Flair a month ago."

The change in topic was so sudden that Elektra was lost for words. "W-what?" she finally managed to say.

"The night I lost the number one contender's match, you went off on Flair," The Animal had reverted to his dealing-with-a-very-small-child voice. "I want you to tell me what you said."

Elektra understood where he was coming from, what he was trying to make her admit, but still resisted it. "Dave—"

"_Say it_!" The Animal bellowed. With one hand, he reached out and swept both the lamp and the clock radio from the nightstand. Elektra flinched, a muffled sob escaping from her throat. The lamp crashed to the floor, but did not break. Its light threw strange shadows onto Batista's face, making his expression even more frightening than it already was. He looked like a beast, like a snarling dog on the verge of snapping its chain. He pointed at her. "Say it." he repeated, his tone now cold.

Elektra's throat was as dry as dust, but she forced the words out in a flat monotone. "I told him that he was even worse than Hunter; that he had the chance to do the right thing, but instead, he did nothing."

Batista nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's what I thought." He lowered his hand. "Now tell me how you're any different from him." His expression had become unreadable again. There was none of the rage he had displayed a moment, and somehow, this emotionless calm was even worse.

Elektra's body shook. One by one, tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "Don't do this," she pleaded, struggling to speak without breaking down entirely. "Please don't do this. I know I fucked up, but please—"

"Fucked up?" The Animal sounded almost amused. "I think this goes beyond fucked up." He tore his eyes from her face, stalking back and forth, talking as he did so. "You're the one person in this business that I trust. Hunter hates my guts. Ric's been drinking the Evolution Kool-Aid too long to be trustworthy. Everyone else on the roster thinks I sold my soul a long time ago. But you…" He broke off and looked at her again. His expression looked sad. "I always thought I could trust you; that you would never go near Hunter again after what I let him do to you."

Batista's features hardened once again into that unreadable mask. "But now, I find out that you did. That bastard finally crosses the line, and instead of coming to me, you go to him." He laughed humorlessly. "I've been waiting all this time for him to make a move, but it turns out that he already has. And you knew." He finally took a step back toward her. Elektra involuntarily shrunk back. "You knew…and you kept your mouth shut." He shook his head, once again chuckling bitterly. "Hunter must be laughing his ass off, knowing that he's got the one person who means the world to me on his side."

"I'm _not_ on his side!" Elektra cried, her voice finding strength in the midst of her tears. She moved closer to the Animal, reaching out tentatively to put her hand on his arm. "I did it for you, not him!"

But Batista was already shaking his head. "No," he contradicted her quietly. "You did it for yourself. You lie to my face, you make a deal with that fucking asshole—you're fooling yourself if you think that you did it for me." He took hold of her hand and gently but deliberately pulled it off his arm.

"At least let me tell you why," Elektra pleaded, her voice quavering with misery. She was teetering on the brink, only a step or two away from losing control of her emotions completely.

"Why does it matter?" Batista interrupted brusquely, turning away from her. "I trusted you and you lied to me. What do we have to talk about?" He moved away from her, heading for the door.

Elektra limped after him awkwardly, grimacing with pain every time she put weight on her broken leg. "Dave, please…stop," she begged. She was weeping now. "Please, just look at me…just talk to me…don't leave like this…"

The Animal stopped at the door and abruptly turned around. For several long seconds, he stared at her without compassion or pity. "A long time ago, you looked at me and said that you were becoming just like Hunter. And I held you and told you that you were nothing like him." He paused. "I was wrong." He let this hang in the air for a few moments before pointing at her accusingly again. "_You_ are _exactly_ like him."

As soon as she heard this, Elektra halted, her face crumpling in disbelief. Batista wasn't finished, however; he turned back toward the door as he delivered one last biting statement: "Maybe it would have been better…for both of us…if you'd never left him." With that, he stepped out into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Elektra couldn't move at first; she seemed to be frozen in a state of dreamlike paralysis. Then, reality hit her like the limousine had six days prior, and she bent over, her body shaking with sobs. Crying, she tried to move toward the door, but a sharp bolt of pain shot up her injured leg and she toppled to the floor. The gray-eyed Diva clawed at the floor with her good hand, trying to drag herself to the door, as though by doing so she could somehow catch up with the Animal and repair the damage she had wrought on them both.

She didn't get very far, however, before emotion crashed over her again, and this time, she gave into it. She remained on the floor, crying, until exhaustion claimed her and she drifted off into a troubled sleep.


	53. Chapter 53: Taking Sides

**A/N: I just want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing so far. With school, it's been really hard to update as much as I'd like, but your encouragement makes me want to post chapters faster. Hopefully, you'll like this one; I hope to have Chapter 54 up pretty soon as well. Read, review, and enjoy! Peace!**Chapter 53: Taking Sides

* * *

Batista pushed through the hotel's revolving door, storming out into the night. At this hour, it was freezing and an icy wind blew full force down the wide street. But the Animal didn't register the chill, even though he had neglected to grab his coat on the way out. All he felt was anger, hot fury boiling in his veins like liquid fire. And pain, sharp exquisite agony that was right now tearing his heart to pieces.

He veered to the left and continued down the deserted sidewalk, neither knowing nor caring where he was headed. His thoughts were slamming against his skull like sledgehammers, and he was sure that, sooner or later, they were going to split his head open from the inside, spilling his doubts and fears onto the concrete.

Batista could still see Elektra's face in his mind's eye, her horrified and heartbroken reaction to his final words. _You are exactly like him…_ He didn't know what was worse: that he had said it…or that he had _meant _it.

_No…_he silently corrected himself. _Worse is finding out that the girl you love went behind your back with someone she hates. Worse is finding out that for a month, she's been looking into your eyes…and lying to your face. _

How could she do this? How could she go back to Triple H, a man who would probably kill her if he thought he could get away with it? But most importantly…how could she lie to _him_, to the one person who had been there for her since the beginning? Elektra claimed to have her reasons, but really, why did it matter? No reason, no explanation would change the fact that she had kept the truth from him. That, in some indirect way, she had helped the Game. That thought alone made him want to throw up.

Up ahead, he saw light glinting off of black water. He must be near the river. The Animal ground to a halt under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, grabbing onto the metal guardrail with both hands. He felt a few disorientating seconds of nausea and leaned over the railing, certain that he was going to puke right into the river. But thankfully, the sensation passed and Batista took a deep breath, listening to the splash of water beneath him.

He straightened up and wiped his forehead with one hand. Incredibly, he had broken out in a light sweat. His temples throbbed , the rhythmic pulse in his head as loud as a drumbeat. Slowly, with an arm that no longer felt like it belonged to him, the Animal dug deep into his pants pocket, his whole body tensing when his fingers closed around a small square object.

He pulled his hand out, bringing it up toward his face, studying the black velvet box under the streetlamp's harsh glare. Hesitantly, he opened it up. The ring's sizable diamond caught the light almost immediately, making it sparkle, making it gleam, just like—

_Just like the snowflakes that fell from the sky that night. And remember how she danced in the snow, how happy she looked…_

Batista quickly snapped the box closed again, but it was too late; the guilt had taken hold of him. He couldn't just leave Elektra back there. She was injured; what if she had tried to follow him and fallen—

With a growl, the Animal closed his fist around the small jewelry box, cocking his arm back as though preparing to pitch a ball. But before he could complete the motion, he stopped. His arm shook for a second or two, then dropped back down to his side.

Batista's sharply-hewn features creased in pain, and he bowed his head, his chest aching with every breath that tore in and out of his lungs. "Why you?" he whispered harshly, almost spitting out the words. "Why him? Why now?"

The Animal slumped against the railing, propping his elbows up and clasping both hands around the velvet box as though in prayer. He pressed his face against his fists. "Why, baby?" he asked softly, his voice full of sadness. "_Why_?"

* * *

Elektra stared out the car window at the hotel parking lot, focusing all of her energy on keeping her expression neutral. The last thing she needed at this point was to have fans walk by and speculate as to why she looked so miserable. But it was a struggle, and more than once, she wondered if she should just dispense with the pretenses and let her emotions show on the outside. Hadn't she done enough pretending already?

The silver-eyed Diva ducked her head, staring down at her lap. Her hands were clenched together so tight that her knuckles flushed white. Her palms had little crescent moon-shaped marks where her fingernails had dug into her skin. She felt sick to her stomach, and she had been unable to force food down her throat.

Batista had not come back to the room last night. After falling asleep on the floor, Elektra had woken up an hour or two later in exactly the same spot. Using her good arm and leg, she had dragged herself to the bed and after ten minutes of panting and straining, was able to pull herself up onto it. Sleep, however, did not return to her, and the gray-eyed Diva spent the rest of the night staring at the wall with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. An eternity passed before the sliver of sky between the curtains turned to gray, then blue, and when weak sunlight crept into the room, Elektra pushed herself up and hobbled to the bathroom.

She was brushing her teeth and leaning on the sink for support when the Animal finally returned. He helped her shower and dress (the casts on her leg and wrist made both difficult), just as he had done for the past week. However, all of Elektra's questions about his whereabouts were met with silence, and there was no tenderness in his ministrations of her; only a cold efficiency. Worst of all, he had yet to look her directly in the eyes. It was as though, for the first time, he viewed her injuries as a burden.

In less than twelve hours, Elektra and Batista had gone from a loving couple to combatants struggling to uphold some semblance of a truce. It was just like those weeks following her eviction from Evolution, where the goal was not to make things better, only to keep them from getting worse. All morning, the silver-eyed Diva had been dreading the inevitable moment where the Animal would finally look at her and utter those awful words: _It's over…_

Elektra jumped as the car door opened and Batista eased himself into the driver's seat. Without saying anything, he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and the car pulled away from the front door of the hotel, moving down the busy street. The next fifteen or twenty minutes passed in utter silence as Batista drove through the avenues of Pittsburgh before getting on the interstate, heading in the direction of Penn State University's main campus, where Monday Night Raw was being held.

Finally, Elektra couldn't stand it anymore. "Dave," She spoke softly, her voice full of misery. "Please, just—just pull over."

The Animal glanced at her, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned on the car's emergency blinkers and gradually pulled off to the side of the road. He put the car in park, and stared straight ahead as other vehicles whizzed past them, vanishing into the horizon.

Elektra took all of this in—his refusal to look at her, his stoic silence—and her face crumpled again. "Dave…please don't do this to me," she pleaded. "Just say something…anything…"

"What do you want me to say?" Batista interrupted brusquely. He turned in his seat and stared at her, the look in his eyes almost a glare. "Huh?" He rushed on without waiting for a response. "After everything that's happened…what could you possibly want me to say?"

Elektra's lips trembled and the floodgates inside her finally broke, spilling tears down her pale cheeks. "Just tell me that it's going to be okay!" she sobbed. She reached out and rested her splinted hand on his arm. To his credit, the Animal did not pull away this time. "Just tell me that we're going to get through this—that we're going to survive this like everything else!"

The corner of Batista's mouth curled upward in a sardonic smile. "So…you want me to lie? Is that it?" He turned his gaze away from her, staring out at the passing cars again. "I think we both know that it's not going to be okay this time around."

Elektra shot her eyes toward her own window, glancing out at buildings, trees, sky. When she spoke again, her voice was just above a murmur. "Four months ago…you powerbombed me…and then you stood by and watched me get Pedigreed. "

Beside, she heard Batista drawn in a long shuttering breath. "What's your point?" he asked, and Elektra could tell by the sound of his voice that he was barely keeping his emotions in check.

The gray-eyed Diva turned and locked her gaze onto the Animal. "We both though that we'd never get through it—but we did. We did…and I forgave you." Her voice quavered, almost broke again. "So why can't you forgive me?"

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that they had been a mistake. Batista didn't just take her hand off his arm; he pushed it away roughly. He leaned toward her, his countenance a mixture of rage and pain that was both terrifying and heartbreaking at the same time. "Don't talk about that," he growled through clenched teeth. "Don't you _ever_ talk about that! Do you hear me?" He leaned even closer. "I've spent the last four months trying to make up for what I did to you, so don't try to pull a guilt trip on me!" There was so much anger in his expression…but there was an enormous amount of sadness as well. "Don't think that you can just bring up my mistakes and expect me to forgive you—because then it's not about forgiveness, it's just settling a debt."

For a moment, the two of them remained frozen like that: the Animal looming over her, Elektra frightened, but not shrinking back. Then, Batista pulled back and looked out at the road. "We should get going."

Elektra still stared at him, trying to process the outpouring of emotion she'd just received from the Animal. "Dave—" she tried to say.

"I don't feel like talking anymore," Batista interjected roughly. Putting the car back in drive, he maneuvered deftly back into the flow of traffic.

They didn't exchange any more words for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

The first few Superstars were trickling in by the time Batista and Elektra arrived at the Bryce Jordan Center in University Park. The Animal swung the car into a parking space, shut off the engine, and practically threw open the driver's side door. He walked around to the back, opening up the trunk, pulling out Elektra's wheelchair and unfolding it. Batista wheeled it around to her side of the car, where Elektra had already pushed open her own door. Reaching into the confines of the car, the Animal carefully gathered her into his arms, lifted her out and deposited her in the wheelchair.

He had just pushed the chair back around to the trunk to retrieve their suitcases when Trish appeared, accompanied by Chris Jericho. The Women's Champion squealed when she saw Elektra, running over and enveloping the silver-eyed Diva in a gentle hug. "Hey, girl!" she exclaimed, pulling back and looking Elektra up and down. "How's the leg?" she asked, half-jokingly.

Elektra forced a weak smile onto her face. "Still broken, unfortunately."

Trish opened her mouth, presumably to enquire some more, but Batista suddenly cut into the conversation, his tone far less brusque than it had been in the car. "Hey, Trish, could I ask you a favor?" The Women's Champion looked up and nodded. The Animal continued. "Could you take Elektra to the locker room? There's an errand I need to run before the show tonight." He inclined his head toward the pale-eyed Diva in the wheelchair.

If Trish found the request strange, she didn't comment. "Sure!" she chirped. Batista stepped back, allowing Jericho to take control of the chair. The Women's Champion kept pace with them, wheeling Elektra's suitcase along with her own. When they had gone about ten feet, Y2J leaned down next to Elektra, a devilish grin on his handsome face. "Hey…want to see if I can pop a wheelie with this thing?"

"_Chris, no_!" Trish protested, but she couldn't hold back her laughter. The two of them began arguing, the disagreement more affectionate than anything else. Elektra allowed them to talk over her, because doing so was better than acknowledging Batista's overt abandonment of her.

The three of them reached the women's locker room. Trish popped her head in the door. "Man on the floor!" she called out. There were the sounds of bare feet slapping on concrete, mixed in with shrieks and giggles. The Women's Champion stepped further in, holding the door open so that Jericho could wheel Elektra into the room. He parked her carefully next to an empty cubbyhole, and Trish laid her suitcase within easy reach on the bench next to her. She straightened up and smiled at the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla. Elektra looked away as the two of them exchanged a quick kiss.

Trish watched Jericho leave, a big smile on her face. "Okay, so I have to tell you about last night," she began. "After the show, Chris and I went out to dinner, and the place we went to, let me tell you—Elektra?" The Women's Champion's grin faded when she saw the silver-eyed Diva with her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed quietly. Trish quickly stepped over the bench, kneeling down in front of her friend and touching her arm gently. "Elektra? Elektra, hon, what's wrong?"

"I fucked up," Elektra's voice was so quiet that Trish wasn't sure that she heard her right the first time. The gray-eyed Diva looked up, tears trickling freely from her pale irises. "I fucked up, Trish, I fucked up. Now he'll leave and he'll never come back—"

"Who's leaving?" Trish asked, her expression confused. By now, the other Divas in the room had stopped what they were doing to watch, but the Women's Champion paid them no mind. Her only concern right now was her friend. "Who are you talking about?" Her brow creased, then smoothed out as she realized who Elektra must be referring to. "Dave? Did something happen with you and Dave?" She carefully took Elektra's hands in both of her own. "Hon, just tell me what's wrong."

"Careful, Trish," The bitter interruption came from the far corner of the room. Both Trish and Elektra looked up in surprise, their eyes searching for the source of the voice. The other Divas swiftly stepped to the side as Victoria made her way across the room. The raven-haired Diva's eyes were fixed on the Women's Champion—and there was nothing nice about her expression. "You don't want to fall for that story a second time."

"Not now, Vic," Trish replied, her voice just a little sharper than before. "We're busy here." She turned back toward Elektra.

Raw's Vicious Vixen let out a nasty little laugh. "Oh, don't tell me that she's got you believing her crappy story, too." Her dark eyes swept around the room, taking in the other Divas. "You…all of you…you make me sick." Her gaze fell on Elektra. "But especially _you_." Victoria practically spat out those last words.

Trish slowly straightened up, her gaze locked on the black-haired Diva. "Stop it, Vic," she commanded softly, her voice full of steel.

Victoria, however, was far from stopping. She jabbed her index finger in Elektra's direction. "_She's_ been a two-faced bitch since Day One, but yet all she has to do is squirt a few tears and give some sob story about Batista breaking up with her, and you practically fall all over one another trying to console her." Her mouth curved upward in a sneer. "She's got the rest of you fooled…but not me."

"Vicky, shut up!" Trish hissed through gritted teeth. Elektra, on the other hand, stared at Victoria, her expression shocked and hurt.

"Why?" she finally managed to say. "Why are you—what did I ever do to you?"

Victoria laughed, the sound of it brittle. "Oh, honey, please, we don't have all night." She glared at Elektra, her brown eyes snapping sparks. "How about the fact that you've been using and lying to everyone since you came here?" The Vicious Vixen took a step toward the bench, and Trish moved closer to Elektra. Victoria continued. "Like that phony break-up—oh, that was the _best_! You gave that whole spiel about how _heartbroken _you were…while you were laughing at all of us behind our backs!"

She eyed the gray-eyed Diva with evident distaste. "What is it this time, huh? You trying to milk us for more sympathy? Your bum leg not getting you enough attention—"

"_Hey_!" Trish's voice was a throaty roar, so uncharacteristic of her that both Elektra and Victoria blinked in surprise. The Women's Champion practically vaulted over the bench, jamming her finger right into the Vicious Vixen's face. "I'm only saying this once: _shut the fuck up or get the fuck out_."

For several long seconds, the two Divas eyed each other warily. Finally, Victoria took a step back, glowering. "_Fine_." The raven-haired Diva took one last look around the room. "But let me say this: why are all of you sticking your neck out for her when she hasn't done jack shit for any of you? I don't know about you, but I am _through_ trusting her." She paused. "Anyone else feel the same way?"

Trish opened her mouth to say something else, then snapped it closed in shock as Candice Michelle moved silently across the room to stand next to Victoria. The leggy Stacy Keibler followed suit. A few more seconds ticked by, and Christy Hemme rose from a nearby bench, walking over to join the small cluster.

Elektra had watched this rejection in silence, but at the sight of Christy aligning herself with Victoria, something inside her snapped. "Christy, not you, too—" she pleaded, her voice trailing off into nothing.

"It's nothing personal, E," Christy answered, her voice emotionless. "But I just don't trust you." Her gaze swept over to Trish, becoming a little bit more spiteful. "Besides, I didn't exactly appreciate _her_ calling me a slut last week." The Women's Champion didn't reply, but her lips pressed together in a thin line.

Christy looked back at the far corner, where one Diva remained. "Come on, Mar, let's get out of here." Beside her, Victoria smirked triumphantly.

Maria Kanellis didn't answer for several long moments. Her Barbie-like face was sober and she stared down at her feet, shuffling them in place. The anti-Elektra group had already turned, en masse, to leave when she spoke up. "I think—I think I'll stay."

Christy frowned. "Maria, just because you play dumb doesn't mean you _are_ dumb. What's she ever done for you—"

"I _said_," This time, the backstage reporter's voice was forceful, causing all of the other Divas to look in her direction. Maria's features were set in one of grim determination. Slowly, she crossed the room to stand next to Elektra, reaching down to put her hand gently on the silver-eyed Diva's shoulder. "_I'll stay_." she finished.

From the look on Christy's face, she obviously hadn't finished voicing her disapproval, but Victoria quickly cut in. "Let her alone, Christy. Besides…the three of them make a pretty good team." Her mouth twitched in a mean little smile. "Kind of like the Three Musketeers." Turning on her heel, she led the three other Divas out of the locker room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Elektra bowed her head and wept quietly. Trish and Maria both tried to console her, but the gray-eyed Diva continued to cry. She couldn't stop thinking that this splitting of the Diva ranks over her was a foreshadowing of things to come…and that after tonight, she would lose more than just a few friends.

* * *

Batista strode down the hall, now changed into a suit, his designer shades clenched in one hand. The show was already heading into its second hour, but the Animal had just pulled into the parking garage a few minutes ago. He couldn't remember the last time he'd arrived this late to a show, especially a televised one. But it had been necessary; after everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours, he'd needed to clear his head. And that meant distancing himself from everyone…including Elektra.

_Especially_ Elektra.

Batista no longer felt anger at the thought of her; only a dull cold pain. He didn't like what she had done, he still couldn't quite believe that she had done it, but at least now, he had grudgingly accepted that it had happened. The question was: what should he do now?

The Animal realized that he was squeezing his sunglasses a little tighter than he should, and stopped to transfer them to his jacket pocket. He looked down the hall. Just up ahead was the Evolution locker room, where the World Heavyweight Champion was most likely shitting a brick over his absence. Batista grimaced. If there was one person he wanted to see even less than Elektra right now, it was Triple H. Even though he had calmed down, he could still feel the rage boiling down deep inside him, waiting for an opportunity to unleash itself. And he could not afford to lose his cool and end up punching the Cerebral Assassin in the face.

The Animal walked forward a few more steps, halting right next to the doorway and leaning against the wall. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, to bring him to a place where he would at least be able to tolerate the Game's admonishments without snapping. Elektra had been good at that. She would look in his eyes or touch his face, and he could literally feel the anger draining away. She would know just how to calm him—

Batista snatched the thought out of mid-air before it could fully develop. Not now. He could not afford to think about her right now. As painful as it was, he had to banish her from his mind or he really was going to lose it. The Animal closed his eyes, fully intending to do just that, when Triple H's voice invaded his ears.

"Can you believe this?"

Batista opened his eyes, looking for the Game, then realized that the voice was emanating from within the locker room. He heard some muttered comment that must have come from Flair, then the Cerebral Assassin's voice again.

"It's supposed to be the biggest night in Batista's career. It's supposed to be the biggest night in the history of _Evolution_, Ric." The World Heavyweight Champion paused. "This is the first night, _this_ is where it all happens. You and I are gonna run this business and it all starts tonight! After everything we've done for him, and _tonight_, of _all nights_, he has the _guts_ to be over two hours late?"

"Now, Champ," This was Flair. "You have bent over _backwards_ for him! You _created_ Batista, you made him! You put him in a position to make a huge impact on this industry. _You _did it!"

Batista rolled his eyes. Flair had been on Triple H's bandwagon for so long that he was apparently ready to turn on anybody, including the Animal. He was ready to step into the doorway and interrupt the Nature Boy's diatribe when the Game's next words froze him in place:

"I've done more than you know." Batista frowned, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Something about the Cerebral Assassin's voice…it hinted at actions far more sinister.

"You have?" Flair again, sounding just as puzzled as the Animal. "Like what? Something I ought to know?"

Batista heard Triple H's deep breath from outside the room. When he spoke, his voice gradually assumed a cold clipped cadence. "Do you know how _hard_ it is to get footage from SmackDown and Big Show and get it put into Raw? It's not easy. And do you know how _hard_ it is to find a white limousine and get those _stupid_ big horns put on the front, to make Dave think that JBL was trying to run him over?"

For a few moments, Batista couldn't move. Paralysis had seized his entire body. A chill crept down his spine. He had to have heard wrong. The Game was capable of some pretty sick shit, but this…not this…it couldn't be—

Flair was speaking now. "Wait, wait, wait—_you_ orchestrated that last week, the limousine almost running over Dave?"

"Relax!" The Cerebral Assassin sounded almost defensive. "It's not like I was trying to have him killed! I was just trying to light a fire under him—for his own good!" Triple H's voice grew softer, and Batista had to strain to hear him. "Listen, sometimes, Dave is not smart enough to know what's good for him. I was just trying to ensure that he made the right decision tonight and went to SmackDown."

Flair was quiet for several seconds. "And Elektra?" His voice was no longer as confident or sure as it had been earlier. "What about what's good for her? Jesus Christ, Hunter, she's in a wheelchair right now—"

The Animal was prepared for a callous response from the World Heavyweight Champion, but he was not expecting the laughter that greeted Flair's accusation. Triple H sounded _amused_. "Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot about her." The laughter died away. "She was never even supposed to be out there in the first place. You saw her: Dave tried to stop her, _I _tried to stop her, but she just wouldn't listen. It's her own damn fault, trying to be a hero, sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong." Batista could almost picture the sick smile on the face of the Cerebral Assassin. "Serves her right, Ric. That little cunt thought that she could blackmail me—_me_!—and get away with it. She got what she deserved."

There was a pause. "Don't look at me like that, Ric. Think of it this way: Elektra getting hit by that limo is a better incentive than anything you or I could have said. Now Dave's got no choice: he _has_ to go to SmackDown." The Game chuckled again, speaking so softly that it was almost to himself. Unfortunately, Batista still heard every word: "Funny…I always thought she was useless. Guess she really did serve a purpose after all."

Silence reigned in the locker room as Flair considered this. The Animal didn't realize that he had been holding his breath until he felt his chest begin to tighten. He let it out quietly, his ears straining to catch every nuance, every word. _C'mon, Ric…_he silently urged the Nature Boy. _Do the right thing. Walk out of there…_

"Oh…my…God…" Flair finally spoke. "There have been times when I _thought_ you were a genius; I've even _told _people you were a genius. But _now_, I _know_ you're a genius!" Batista's heart sank. It was too much to ask, expecting the Nature Boy to abandon his loyalty of the Game. The only thing he could console himself with was the reluctance in Flair's voice, the disapproval that he was obviously trying to mask.

The Nature Boy continued. "God, that's the greatest thing I've ever heard in my life. You know that?" He let out a few trademark "Woooo"s. "No wonder they call you the Cerebral Assassin; that's the greatest move I've ever seen and I've seen a lot—"

"_Ric_!" The World Heavyweight Champion's voice was sharp, cutting through Flair's praise and forcing him into silence. "Yeah, it's a great plan, but it's all for _nothing_ if the big idiot gets here tonight and decides to be _selfish_ and stay on Raw!" His voice softened, but once again, the Animal had no problem hearing him. "Batista needs to do what's right for _Evolution_. What's right for Evolution is what's right for Batista…and what's right for Batista is for him to go to SmackDown."

The Nature Boy said something in response, but Batista had heard enough. He pushed himself off the wall, turning and heading back the way he had come. The rage, the source of the Animal, was surging up inside of him, but instead of clouding things, everything suddenly seemed so clear, so simple. One word, one goal stood out in his mind.

_Revenge…_


	54. Chapter 54: Stay With Me

Chapter 54: Stay With Me

The three remaining members of Evolution stood in the gorilla position, waiting for the musical cue that would signal their entrance into the arena. The final match had just concluded; Batista's championship decision would be the main event of the evening. Outwardly, all three men were calm, but there was a definite tension in the air. The fate of Evolution was hinged on the placement of a single signature.

Batista gritted his teeth. His entrance music was going to hit at any moment, and Elektra was nowhere in sight. He hadn't had a chance to go get her ; almost immediately after hearing Triple H's admission, he had been accosted by a member of the creative team, who had practically dragged him to gorilla. The World Heavyweight Champion and the Nature Boy joined him a few minutes later, and it had taken every iota of self-control that the Animal possessed not to clamp both hands around the Game's throat and hurl him at the nearest wall.

Even now, he was amazed that he hadn't lost it, that the tangled tapestry of emotions raging inside him weren't showing on his face. Maybe it was because, in the midst of all that rage and hate, deep down, he had always known that it would end like this. What was going to happen out there—it was more than just revenge, it was…_inevitable_.

_What is there to explain?_...That was what he had retorted when Elektra had tried to justify her actions. Well, now he knew. Elektra hadn't struck a deal with Triple H—she had been blackmailing him, making him squirm just like he had made her months before. Batista couldn't say that he approved…but at least he understood.

However, neither one of them had known about this…and in the end, Elektra had been the one who had paid the price.

Batista heard a stifled gasp and looked up sharply. His dark eyes widened behind his sunglasses when he saw Elektra walking—actually _walking_—toward him. Trish and Maria were supporting her on both sides, her arms draped over their shoulders for support. She wore a pair of floor-length wide-legged black pants that effectively masked the bulky cast on her leg, and the gauzy low-cut black top hid the bandaging on her ribs. She was favoring her right leg, and wincing with pain every time she put weight on her left, but she still held her head high.

The Animal strode toward her, his emotions wavering somewhere between admiration and irritation. He stopped in front of her, his sharp features twisting in a glare. "What the _hell_ are you doing walking around?" he demanded, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "Where's your wheelchair?"

The silver-eyed Diva took another step toward him, biting back another cry of pain. She stared up at Batista, matching him glare for glare. "Oh, yeah, that's really going to make a powerful statement," she shot back. "Dave Batista, winner of the 2005 Royal Rumble, heading down to the ring to sign his Wrestlemania contract—while pushing his injured girlfriend in her wheelchair."

Batista looked from her to the other two Divas. "And _you_ _let_ her talk you into this?"

"She wouldn't listen to us," Trish replied, her gaze steely. "She would have thrown that wheelchair across the room if she'd been able to." The expression on her face completed the thought: _And you wanted US to talk her out of it?_

The Animal moved his eyes back to his girlfriend. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're not walking out there," His tone left no room for negotiation.

"And you're not wheeling me out there," Elektra retorted, dropping her arms back down her side and resting her weight on her right leg. "So we can stand here arguing all evening, or you can give me your goddamn arm."

"What's the matter, you two?" Triple H called out from the other side of gorilla. He sounded amused. "Trouble in paradise?"

"We're fine!" Batista answered, his tone bordering on a growl. His gaze, however, never wavered from Elektra. For several long seconds, they stood there, neither one of them willing to back down. Finally, the Animal's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, the only indication that he had relented. "_Fine_, just…just stay out of the way this time, all right?"

He saw Elektra flinch at the barbed comment and wished that he had a chance to explain everything to her, but then his music hit, drowning out everything else. Batista held out his arm, and the gray-eyed Diva grabbed it with both hands, clinging to him like a life line. Moving with difficulty, but faster than he would have expected, she limped along next to him as they headed for the black curtain. The Animal pushed it aside with his free hand, stepping out onto the top of the ramp with Elektra, the Cerebral Assassin and the Nature Boy right behind them.

For Elektra, the world registered only as a jumbled haze of light and noise. Her head was spinning, and she wondered if she was going to faint right there on the ramp. Every time she tried to take a deep breath, her injured ribs screamed out in agony. Bolts of pain shot up her broken leg. But the silver-eyed Diva ground her teeth together and endured this discomfort in silence. All the broken bones in the world couldn't match the ache of her broken heart.

She told herself that this was her punishment for stooping to the Game's level. If she had told Batista the truth from the beginning, it never would have come to this. But now here she was, broken, bruised and on the verge of losing the one person that mattered to her. And for what? Protection? Elektra had to bite back a bitter laugh. A lot of good _that_ had done her.

The four of them reached the ring. Eric Bischoff and Theodore Long were already inside the ropes, staring at the new arrivals expectantly. A red carpet had been laid down over the canvas, and a cloth-covered table was set up along one side. Both of the GM's expressions were unreadable, but Elektra took no comfort in that. Batista was the one making this decision, not them. In the end, it all came down to the Animal.

Batista climbed the steel steps first, turning and extending his hand to Elektra. She accepted it and mounted the steps with evident difficulty, inching along the edge of the ring apron. Flair stood just below her on the floor, looking up at her worriedly, ready to catch her should she fall.

Elektra let go of Batista's hand, grabbing onto the ropes with both of hers. The Animal pulled apart the top and middle ropes to allow her enough space to enter the squared circle. Even that was a challenge: Elektra had to swing her injured leg over the rope, then balance awkwardly on it while she brought the other one in. Sweat poured down her face, and she was almost panting with the exertion. Her leg had become a throbbing stalk of agony, and she couldn't catch a breath. What used to be a simple task had now become an almost Herculean effort.

Luckily, someone had been thoughtful enough to set out a folding chair for her. Batista entered the ring and carefully escorted her to the seat, holding onto her as she eased her body onto it rather ungracefully. Everything became so much harder when you couldn't bend one of your legs.

When she finally settled in, Batista hesitated a moment longer, his hands resting on her shoulders, staring down at her. His expression was unreadable. Elektra couldn't see his eyes behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. The Animal leaned forward, like he was going to kiss her. Elektra felt her breath catch in her throat. Then, abruptly, Batista dropped his hands and stepped back, turning away from her.

A huge ball of emotion lodged itself in Elektra's throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying. She looked past the Animal, and inadvertently locked eyes with the World Heavyweight Champion. Triple H stared back at her mildly, his expression almost but not quite a smirk. Elektra quickly dropped her gaze to her lap, tears stinging her eyes.

She wondered if her discomfort amused Triple H. Most likely, it did, though he would never show it. Couldn't _afford_ to show it, especially now. But deep down, where no one could see, he was probably loving every grimace of pain on her face, every nuance of friction between her and Batista. About the only thing that would excite him more would be to witness the expression on her face when the Animal signed the SmackDown contract. Well, tonight, he just might get his wish.

Theodore Long was talking now, saying something about facing the Undertaker--probably making his argument for Batista to choose SmackDown. Elektra really didn't know or care at this point. She tuned Long out, wanting only for this moment to be over, wanting only for this night to be over, wishing that she had never laid eyes on Triple H. wishing she could make Batista understand—

Wishing for a miracle that was never going to happen.

And then she didn't even have time for that, because Long had finished talking and Batista was moving toward the table. He picked up the two clipboards—one for Raw, the other for SmackDown—and stepped back, holding both of them at arms length and studying them intently.

The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity. Elektra couldn't breathe. She leaned forward in her chair, waiting for Batista's arm to drop, waiting for him to throw one of the clipboards aside—

As always, it was Triple H's voice that interrupted her reverie, the smarmy sound of it as grating as nails on a chalkboard. The Cerebral Assassin had picked up a microphone from the table, and was now addressing the Animal. "Dave," he drawled, the confidence oozing out of his voice. "This shouldn't be a very difficult decision for you. 'Cause there's only one person that you need to listen to."

As he spoke, the Game slowly walked around to the other side of the table, pausing to throw his arm around Bischoff's shoulders." See, it's not what's best for Raw," He moved on, patting Long on the back. "And it's not about what's best for SmackDown." The World Heavyweight Champion now neared Elektra, who drew back as he passed. Triple H took no notice of her; only stepped courteously over her outstretched leg and stopped next to Batista. He leaned in close, jabbing the Animal's chest with his index finger. "It's about one thing, big man…it's about what's best for _you_."

The Cerebral Assassin moved back, still talking. "It's about what's best for _Batista_, man, and I don't want you to worry about Ric or myself or even your girlfriend over there—" At this, Elektra visibly bristled, sitting up stiffly in her chair. "—because, hey, what's best for Batista is what's best for Evolution."

_You mean what's best for you…_Elektra thought to herself bitterly. _Because Evolution isn't about Dave or Ric or me…it's about you_. _It's always been about you. I could lose Dave tonight, and you wouldn't give a damn, so long as you hold onto your precious title. _

The Game continued, stepping close to Batista again. "I want you to picture something, Dave. Imagine this—" He motioned with his hand, spelling out an imaginary marquee in the air. "It's Wrestlemania 21, it's all said and done, and I'm standing in the middle of this ring, _still_ the World Heavyweight Champion and standing next to me…" Triple H turned and pointed at Batista. "…is the _new_ WWE Champion, Batista."

The World Champion grinned. "Think about it, Dave, we would rule the _world_, we would answer to _no one_. Do you know how big that is?" He slung his arm around Batista's massive shoulders. "You and I have the opportunity to do the greatest thing that has ever been done in this industry. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to the _world_."

The Game slowly shook his head, still smiling. He shrugged. "Doesn't seem like a difficult decision to me at all, Dave, it really doesn't. And I've got a feeling you know what you want to do, big man, don't you?" He paused, reached out with his free hand to tap the SmackDown contract. "_You know_ what _you_ wanna do." Triple H moved back, setting the mic back on the table and walking over to join Flair.

The entire arena had gone quiet during the Cerebral Assassin's speech. Despite his many despicable qualities, the man really did know how to speak. All eyes were on Batista, everyone on the edge of their seats, waiting to see what the Animal would do next

Elektra's heart was a stone in her chest; her stomach was on the verge of tumbling into the abyss. With her good hand, she grabbed a handful of her pants fabric, balling it up in her fist. Everything around her had taken on the hazy quality of a dream, and in a sense, this _was_ a dream—one on the verge of becoming a nightmare.

Batista transferred both contracts to one hand, walking over and grabbing the mic from the table. He lifted it to his mouth. During this time, he had yet to look at her; all of his attention was on the World Heavyweight Champion. When the Animal spoke, his voice was quiet, yet it carried to the corners of the arena: "Hunter, I've known what I was gonna do for a _long time_."

He dropped the mic and stepped back, holding both contracts at arm's length again. He raised his left arm, like he was pronouncing judgment on something, and abruptly hurled one of the contracts to the mat. Even from where she was sitting, Elektra could clearly read the red letters spelling out "RAW".

"_No_!" The word tore out of the silver-eyed Diva's throat in a choked sob. She tried to rise out of her seat, but couldn't. Instead, she sat back in her seat helplessly, her entire body numb with shock. She could no longer feel her heart; it must have dropped down to join her stomach in the void. Elektra glanced over at the Game. Even through the tears blurring her vision, she could see the triumphant gleam in his eyes. As she watched, frozen to the spot, Triple H turned and acknowledged her with a tiny nod, as to say _Thanks…_ The smirk on his face was unbearable.

Rage blossomed in Elektra, infusing her limbs with new strength. Bracing herself with her uninjured arm, she pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, wobbling back and forth. She pinwheeled her arms to catch her balance, and finally achieved a tenuous equilibrium. That accomplished, she turned her attention back on the Cerebral Assassin. She had nothing left to lose now. Even if it killed her, she was going to hobble over there and use this plaster-bound appendage of hers to drive Triple H's testicles up into his throat—

Everything had become pure chaos. The fans were screaming, Bischoff was wailing in defeat, the Nature Boy and the Game were cheering and congratulating Batista. The Animal gave them a thumbs up, still holding the SmackDown contract. From where she was standing, Elektra could see the tiny half-smile on his face. Flair returned the gesture by extending both of his thumbs upward.

As the gray-eyed Diva stood there, watching this tableau with a mixture of sadness and rage, she felt a breeze blow by her, hushing the outside world into silence. Nothing had gotten quieter; the breeze was all in her head, telling her that the people in this ring were what she needed to focus. That, maybe, it wasn't over quite yet.

Incredibly, she heard Batista's voice in her head, the memory of it so clear that she could almost felt his breath tickling her ear. _I love you…no matter what I say out there…you remember that…_

Elektra looked back toward the Animal. His hand was still in the thumb-up position. The silver-eyed Diva felt revelation tickling at the back of her mind. There was something familiar about all of this—

_No matter what I say out there…_

--But what was it?—

_You remember that…_

Then, in a flash, Elektra remembered where she had seen that gesture before. And she understood.

As she and the rest of the arena watched, Batista slowly rotated his hand into a thumbs-down. The smile disappeared, replaced by a countenance both cold and merciless. Triple H frowned in bewilderment, staring at the Animal as though waiting for the punchline, for the smile and the quick shrug of the shoulders that would indicate this was all just a joke.

But it was no joke; Batista remained where he was, arm locked, thumb still pointed downward. Comprehension slowly replaced the confusion on the Game's face, and his expression twisted in a snarl, eyes blazing with fury. Next to him, Flair stood aghast, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

The World Champion's lips moved, voicing an epithet that only he could hear, and snatching the gold title belt off his shoulder, he charged the Animal. But Batista was already moving as well, running forward and nailing Triple H with a clothesline that almost took the Game's head off. His massive forearm caught the Cerebral Assassin right in the jaw, knocking him flat on his back.

On the other side of the ring, Flair watched all of this unfold, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Whether he intended to step in and aid Triple H, Elektra never got to find out, because the Animal grabbed the Nature Boy and hurled him bodily out of the ring like a sack of garbage. Batista roared wordlessly, tearing off his suit jacket and tie and tossing them bodily over the side. He ripped his dress shirt open, small buttons flying everywhere, shrugging it off and hurling it on the mat.

Elektra couldn't move. Everything had happened so fast that she was sure she had imagined it. Even so, she was loath to approach Batista. The Animal had been unleashed and, as she knew from personal experience, even she ran the risk of falling victim to his rage.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, a powerful hand clamped itself around her leg, almost pulling her down to the ground. Elektra shrieked and looked down. The Game glared up at her, his face like something out of a horror film, his eyes filled with hatred and madness. Despite the clothesline he had just taken, he had still managed to get back to his hands and knees and was now using her to pull himself to his feet. Elektra screamed again, trying to pull herself free, but it was no use; Triple H had hold of her good leg and besides, he was just too strong.

Batista's head shot around at the sound of her screams, but in a flash, the Cerebral Assassin was back up on his feet, looping his arm around Elektra's neck and yanking her back against him. The Animal moved toward them, his whole body tense, his hands clenched into fists.

"Watch it now, Dave," Triple H's voice dripped with venom. "Take another step and I'll put your girlfriend back in the hospital."

At this, Batista hesitated, a momentary flash of concern passing across his features. The Game must have seen it, because Elektra heard a low rasping chuckle emanating from his throat. At the sound of the World Champion's laughter, however, Batista's expression closed down once more and he started to move forward again.

"You think I'm joking?" The amusement vanished from the Cerebral Assassin's tone. "Just keep walking toward me and I'll show you how serious I am." To illustrate his point, he tightened his hold around Elektra's neck, temporarily shutting off her flow of air. The silver-eyed Diva gasped and clawed at his arm, spots of black appearing on her vision. "I'll snap her neck before you even get close." Triple H finished, practically spitting out his words.

The Animal stopped, subdued by this threat. The two men stared at each other like a pair of gunslingers, Elektra in the middle of it all like some unwilling human shield. The World Heavyweight Champion was silent for several seconds, then he eventually spoke: "So you decided to be selfish after all, Dave. You thought you could turn your back on me, turn your back on _Evolution_? _I made you_ who you are today—you'd still be a nobody if it wasn't for me."

The Game took a step backward, dragging Elektra with him. "But guess what, Dave? It's not too late; you still have a chance to do the right thing." He nodded down toward the ground, where the SmackDown contract lay between them. "Sign that contract, go to SmackDown—or so help me God, I'll make sure this bitch never walks again."

Batista glanced down at the contract, then back up at the two figures opposite him. Elektra's face was so pale it was almost ashen. Her pale frightened eyes gleamed like wet silver, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to breathe. Slowly, the Animal took a step toward them, then another, until he reached the spot where the contract lay. He looked down at the clipboard and at the gleaming white paper attached to it.

Elektra managed to suck in enough air to scream: "Don't do it, Dave! Please don't do it! Not for me—"

"_Shut up, you fucking bitch_!" the Cerebral Assassin roared in her ear. Elektra felt his breath wash over her like a hot rank wave. She sagged in his grasp, too out-of-breath to argue. Triple H turned his attention back to Batista. "Don't listen to her, Dave. She's crazy; she always has been. She's been putting _lies_ in your head since Day One, and if you had just walked away back in November, none of us would be standing here right now!"

Still Batista didn't move, only stared back at the World Heavyweight Champion with an unreadable expression. The wheels must have been turning rapidly in the Game's mind, because when he spoke again, his voice was controlled, almost calm…and filled with that savage delight that signaled a world-class mind fuck. "And…hate to break to you now, Dave…but Elektra here is _not_ as innocent as she seems."

At the mention of this, a mixture of emotions flashed across Batista's face. Pain, anguish, angry…but most of all, _awareness_. Triple H had to have seen it, because he laughed again, a horrible mocking sound. "_Oh_…oh, I _see_…she told you, _didn't she_?" The Game loosened his hold on Elektra's throat, reaching up to caress her hair with the back of his hand. "How did it feel, Dave, finding out that she went to me and not to you? Hurt, didn't it?"

For an instant, Elektra felt reality momentarily fade away as the horrific memory of that night in November crashed down around her. She could taste the blood running down her face, could smell the reek of perspiration and cologne rising from Triple H, could see Batista charging toward them, and felt the impact as her body collided with the mat… Now, here she was, four months later, staring déjà vu right in the face. Just like then, the Game was going to goad the Animal until he snapped, and then shove Elektra right in his path to take the brunt of the punishment. The Cerebral Assassin had to know that he wasn't going to escape—so he was going to take her down with him.

Triple H was still talking, the confidence growing in his voice with every passing second. He leaned his head forward, his lips brushing Elektra's temple. The gray-eyed Diva almost gagged on the bile that rose in her throat. "And just so you know…that's not _all_ she and I did—"

A bolt of anger tore through Elektra's body, so bright and white-hot that it was almost painful. She acted on instinct—if she had stopped to think about it, she probably never would have succeeded. Grabbing the Cerebral Assassin's arm with both of her hands, digging her nails into his arm, she jumped up and swung her bad leg backward. It connected solidly with the Game's balls.

The World Heavyweight Champion let out a startled grunt of pain, releasing her and almost falling on top of her in the process. Elektra landed awkwardly on her left leg. Pain flared upward, and she was sure that she felt the broken edges of the bone grinding together. She rolled over onto her side, trying to use her good leg to push herself back.

Triple H loomed over her, cupping himself gingerly with one hand. "You…_bitch_," he spat. "I'll fucking _kill you_—" His words were cut off by the roaring Animal, charging at him and swinging the SmackDown contract against his skull. The clipboard snapped in half, and blood immediately began to pour down the face of the Cerebral Assassin, but Batista wasn't finished. He grabbed the Champion's head in both of his hands, shoving it down between his thighs in preparation for the Batista Bomb. Locking his arms around the Game's waist, he hoisted Evolution's leader into the air, and turning, powerbombed him right through the contract signing table. The table exploded outward, spraying pieces of artificial wood everywhere.

The crowd was on their feet, cheering and screaming. Batista took no notice of them. He turned back toward Elektra. The silver-eyed Diva couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. The moment Triple H's body had collided with the table, she felt as though an invisible chain had just snapped. For the first time since coming to the WWE, she was free.

She glanced down. Lying next to her was the Raw contract. She picked it up and extended it toward Batista, who after a long moment, accepted it. The Animal walked back to where the fallen Champion lay. Pulling out a pen from the top of the clipboard, he flipped to the last page of the contract and scribbled his name on the bottom. He tossed both clipboard and pen onto the unconscious Triple H.

The Animal paused for a moment or two, then bent down and picked up a microphone that had survived the destruction. He raised it to his mouth. "Hunter, I'm staying right here on Raw…and at Wrestlemania, I'm taking the _World Championship_…" He stooped down closer to the Game. "From _you_!" he finished, throwing the microphone to the floor.

Elektra grabbed onto the ropes, pulling herself up with a tremendous effort. She got to her feet, wobbling precariously. Turning her head, she gazed across the ring at Batista, who looked up and met her eyes. For a moment, there was nothing in his face, then his expression softened, his features infused with the love and tenderness she thought she would never see again. He mouthed something at her, and it took Elektra a moment to realize what he was saying:

_I'm sorry_...

The gray-eyed Diva pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to hold in her tears. She rotated her body toward him and took a hesitant step. Instantly, her bad leg buckled beneath her and she collapsed toward the ground. Faster than she would have thought possible, the Animal crossed the ring and caught her, scooping her effortlessly up into his arms.

Elektra pressed her face against his chest, openly crying now. "I love you!" she wept. "I love you...please, don't leave me alone!"

Batista bent his head down, his lips brushing her hair. "I won't, baby," he whispered, his voice just as choked with emotion. "I love you, too...and I promise, I'll never leave you alone again."


	55. Chapter 55: Apologies and Confrontations

Chapter 55: Apologies and Confrontations

Batista pulled into the hotel parking lot, swinging the car into an empty space and shutting off the engine. He sat still for a moment, looking down at the steering wheel, and then turned toward his girlfriend.

Elektra's seat had been pushed back as far back as it would go, her left pants leg cut away to reveal the fresh cast beneath. After Batista had carried her backstage, she had been rushed almost immediately to the nearest medical facility, where she learned that she had rebroken her leg, probably during her escape from Triple H. It had taken several hours to reset the bone, wrap her leg in a new cast, and fill out the subsequent paperwork. During that time, Batista didn't leave her side for a second.

The silver-eyed Diva stared at her lap, absorbing the silence that filled the vehicle. Despite the Animal's constant presence at the hospital, this was really the first time they'd been alone together since leaving the arena. It was also the first opportunity that she'd had to wrap her mind around what had gone down during those last few minutes of Monday Night Raw. Batista turning on his former friend and leader was something she had envisioned for so long; just the fact that it had actually happened didn't seem possible. Already, the memory of the Cerebral Assassin going through the table, so clear a few hours earlier, had taken on the surreal effervescent quality of a dream. Only the painful throb of her leg was there to remind her that it had been no dream.

The void of sound stretched on and on, becoming almost palpable. Finally, Elektra turned toward the door, resting her fingers on the handle. Instantly, the lock snapped down, preventing her exit. She looked back at Batista, who removed his hand from the door lock button. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. "Sorry, baby…but we need to talk." Despite the tenderness in his voice, there was a sober quality to it that made Elektra's heart plummet into her stomach.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the Animal surprised her by speaking first. "Hunter used me, E. He used us both." He went to tell her about how Triple H had been responsible for the video clips from SmackDown, along with the limousine accident, and how he would have gotten away with both if he hadn't been stupid enough to relate the entire plan to Flair while the locker room door was ajar.

"What makes me sick is how cold he was about the entire thing," Batista finished. "I mean, you could have been _killed_, and I don't think he would have cared. And the things he said…I'm not even gonna repeat them." He glanced at Elektra, whose gaze had drifted back down to her lap. "You don't look all that surprised," he remarked, his tone growing warm with affection again.

Elektra smiled sadly. "I think, deep down…" She lifted up her head to look at him again. "I always wondered if he was the one responsible. After a while, though, I stopped wondering—because I was too busy trying to stop you from leaving." Her smile faded and she looked away, turning toward the window.

When Batista spoke again, his voice was quiet, almost a murmur. "I know…" He hesitated, went on. "I know that you were blackmailing him." Elektra didn't turn, but closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. She bowed her head slightly. The Animal went on. "I guess…all I want to know is…_why_? Why did you lie to me? For _him_?"

Several long seconds of silence went by before the gray-eyed Diva replied. "In the beginning, I thought…if I could blackmail him into staying away from me…then he wouldn't use me to get to you. I told myself that I was doing it for you." She turned back toward Batista, tears glittering on her lower lashes. "And five minutes after I walked out of that room, I was regretting it."

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second or two, still talking. "You're probably going to ask: well, how could I do it, then? How could I keep lying, knowing that it was for the wrong reasons?" Elektra shook her head slowly. "The answer is that I don't know. _I don't know_ why I kept my mouth shut—especially after Hunter figured out that it was killing me, lying to you. Especially after he started using that to torture me."

Elektra opened her eyes, causing tears to spill down her cheeks. She stared at the Animal. "Truth is: there is _no excuse_ for what I did to you. You said that I did it for myself…and you were right. There's no reason you should forgive me, there's no reason you should _trust_ me again, except…" She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked with emotion. "I _love_ you. I always will—and I don't want to lose that…not after I know what it feels like." Her body shook with suppressed feeling, but she kept her eyes on Batista as she finished: "I don't want to lose _you_—not again."

For a heartbeat or two, the Animal didn't move. Then, in a blur of motion, he leaned over, closing the distance between them, taking hold of Elektra and enfolding her tightly in his arms. His mouth pressed against her ear, each word sending a puff of warm breath against her skin. "From now on, we tell each other everything, okay?" He pulled back a little, taking her face in his hands and looking deep into her eyes. "No matter how bad it is, no matter how awful—_everything_. Because, baby…" Batista bent his head down, his nose touching hers. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to lose you, either."

Elektra gasped softly, and the Animal leaned closed to capture her mouth with his, his hands tangling in her hair as he kissed her. The silver-eyed Diva clung to him, and gradually, the outside world faded away into insignificance.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you want to do this?" Batista asked, reaching over to tuck a lock of dark hair back between Elektra's ear.

The two of them stood just behind the black curtain in the gorilla position, waiting for the Animal's entrance music to hit. Five weeks had gone by since Batista had turned his back on Evolution. During that time, he and Triple H had circled around each other uneasily, neither one wanting to be the first to provoke another physical confrontation. The hatred between the two men, bottled up for so long, was now out in the open and speculation had been running rampant as to who would emerge victorious at Wrestlemania. Now, six days before the event, the two men would have an official face-off, a chance to get the final word in, as well as (in the case of the Game) one final chance to play mind games.

Those five long weeks also marked the first time that Elektra did not feel the stifling presence of the World Heavyweight Champion. Not to say that the Cerebral Assassin never came up in conversation, because he did, quite frequently. History or no history, the Game was still the Animal's opponent, and both Batista and Elektra were painfully aware that beating him would be no easy feat. But Elektra no longer felt the weight of the invisible chain that had bound him to her, no longer experienced nightmares of Triple H's hands wrapped around her throat. She was safe…and she was free.

The silver-eyed Diva turned a little, balancing deftly on her crutch. Over the past few weeks, she had graduated from a wheelchair to two crutches to one, and now fairly zipped around the arenas. Even Batista had trouble keeping up with her sometimes.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah…I'm sure."

"Are you _positive_?" Batista pressed. He moved closer, reaching out with one arm to encircle her shoulders and pull her against him. "No one would blame you if you weren't out there. I mean, Flair'll be out there, but only because he doesn't have anything better to do—"

"Dave," Elektra interrupted quietly, her tone amused. "I said I was sure, okay?" Her demeanor grew sober. "Besides…I want to see the look on Hunter's face when I walk out there."

The Animal leaned down, his lips grazing her forehead. "You know, you don't have to prove anything to him anymore," he remarked, his voice serious as well now.

Elektra closed her eyes, momentarily savoring the nearness of the man she loved. "This isn't about proving anything to anyone, especially him," she replied. "I know that he can't hurt me anymore…I want to make sure that he knows it, too."

Batista started to say something in reply, but just then, his entrance theme burst through the speakers, followed by the deafening roar of the fans. Both of them jumped, and the Animal reluctantly pulled away from Elektra, turning around and pushing back the black curtain. He stepped out onto the top of the stage and the gray-eyed Diva followed him, nudging the curtain aside with the tip of her crutch.

As the two of them moved out onto the ramp, the cheers from the audience reached a fever pitch. Elektra paused for a moment, her eyes sweeping across the expanse of bodies, taking in the multitude of signs reading "BATISTA" or "UNLEASH THE ANIMAL". Even after everything that had happened, she still couldn't believe it. That, somehow, Batista had gone from the enemy…to a hero. She turned her head toward Batista, and saw that he was studying the fans as well. As though he could sense her gaze on him, he looked over at her, and behind his expression of calm stoicism, she could see the awe shining in his eyes.

The Animal moved toward her, wrapping his arm around her waist and leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then, almost like they were of one mind, both of them turned toward the ring, where the embodiment of evil waited within its ropes.

The ring had been set up similar to that of the contract signing, with a red carpet laid down and a table occupying the center. Unlike last time, however, the only thing adorning the table was two microphones, and unlike last time, uniformed security officers surrounded the ring, ready to intervene should a fight break out. Elektra regarded them with something akin to amusement. _You're wasting your time, boys…_she thought to herself. It wasn't a question of _if_ there would be a brawl; it was _when_. And when that happened, not even a battalion of armed forces would be able to hold the Game and the Animal back, let alone a group of Rent-A-Cops.

Then her gaze traveled upward, and her amusement waned when she saw the figure of the Cerebral Assassin hunched over the table. Triple H's coutenance was his customary one of arrogant cruelty; the only thing betraying his inner emotions was the fiery animosity in his eyes as he stared at his former friend and ex-girlfriend. Behind him, Flair stood with his hands folded in front of him, surveying the scene with an unreadable expression.

The Game did not move when Batista entered the ring or when he pulled the ropes apart to allow Elektra to enter as well. But when the couple approached the table, the World Heavyweight Champion rose to his feet and actually moved back a step or two. Whether he was intimidated by the Animal or merely wanted Batista to believe that he was, Elektra didn't know. All she did know was that it was refreshing to see Triple H back down for a change.

Batista ignored him, only pulled out a chair for Elektra, watched her ease her body into the seat, then sat down in the chair next to her. As soon as he did, a "BA-TIS-TA" chant started at the back of the arena, growing louder and louder as more and more people joined him. Triple H glared at the fans with cold fury, one hand clamped protectively over his gold title belt. He glanced back at Batista, who stared back at him mildly, an expression of unwitting innocence on his sharp-featured face. The Cerebral Assassin's expression twitched, and for a second, Elektra thought he was going to lose it, but just as quickly, the Game regained control of himself.

Eric Bischoff, who had the ineviable task of moderating the face-off, lifted up his own mic and cleared his throat. "Triple H," he began, and Elektra noticed that he was nervously shifting his weight on the balls of his feet as he spoke. "As the Heavyweight Champion of the World, you may go first."

Triple H regarded the General Manager with a withering look, then turned back toward the table, picking up the microphone in his free hand. He raised it to his mouth, but said nothing, only stared hard at the Animal. The silence stretched out between them, neither man intimidated by the other, neither man willing to back down.

Finally, the Cerebral Assassin spoke, his raspy growl carrying all the way to the far corners of the venue. "_You ungrateful piece of crap_," he spat, ignoring the chorus of boos from the fans. The Game's eyes never wavered from Batista. Taking his hand off his title belt, he gestured at the Animal. "This is how you repay me, huh? For everything I've done for you, this is it?" He glanced briefly back at the Nature Boy. "You believe this, Naitch?" Flair made some sort of noncommittal noise, his expression not changing. "Everything we've _done_ for _him_—and this is the payment we get."

He looked back at Batista, who was rotating his chair idly back and forth, a tiny smile on his face. The World Champion's scowl deepened. "He doesn't get it. You don't even get it." This last sentence was directed at the Animal again. "Everything you _have_, everything you _are_, I _gave _you!" He moved closer, leaning across the table. "I _made _you! You think any one of these people even knew your _name_ before you met me? Huh?" Switching the mic to his other hand, he jabbed his finger at Elektra. "You think _she_ would have even given you a second look before you met me?"

Normally, a comment like this would have been enough to set Batista off, but the number one contender continued to rock nonchalantly back and forth, his expression unchanged. Elektra reached over, placing her hand over his. Batista took it, lacing his fingers through hers.

At this, the Game's eyes narrowed, and once again, he seemed to teeter on the edge of full-blown rage. But for the second time, he reined in his emotions, his irises shooting spiteful sparks. "I plucked you from obscurity and made you a star! Not because I _had_ to, not because I _needed_ to! I was the _World Heavyweight Champion _ _long_ _before_ I ever met you, and I _still _am!"

A second "Batista" chant filled the arena, but this time, Triple H ignored it. He stared down at the Animal, his mouth curving upward in a nasty smile. "You…I just let you come along for the ride, pal. That was it. You were _absolutely nothing_ when I found you. You realize that?" He leaned even closer, savoring every word. "You were _absolutely nothing_ when I found you. And in six days…I'm gonna put you back where I found you, 'cause this _ride_, _Dave_, is over."

The World Champion straightened up again, putting one hand back over his title belt. "Look at me, Dave. Look me in the eye." Batista, of course, disregarded him. Instead, he looked over fondly at Elektra, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

In a flash, the Cerebral Assassin's expression changed, the fury and hatred warping his features into something unrecognizable. "_Dammit, don't look at that whore, look at me, you son of a bitch_!"

That did it. The careless smile on the Animal's face vanished, replaced by a look of cold anger. Slowly, he turned his head, fixing his dark eyes on the Game.

Either Triple H didn't know how close he was to getting his head knocked off or he just didn't care. The sick smile reappeared. "Oops! Did I hit a nerve there, Dave?" The World Heavyweight Champion leaned forward, his eyes bright with enjoyment and madness. "See, when I said that I gave you everything, I meant _everything_. And that includes _her_." He pointed at Elektra again, who stiffened in her seat, lifting her chin up.

The Cerebral Assassin looked back at Batista. "Did you ever stop to think that every time you hug her or kiss her, you're really just getting my sloppy seconds? That I _broke her in_ for you?" Batista's hand tightened around Elektra's, becoming almost painful, but he never took his eyes off Triple H. The Game continued. "Do you really think that she's going to have anything more to do with you once I beat your ass at Wrestlemania? Because our Elektra here…she's nothing but a golddigger, and once she realizes that you're _never_ going to be Champion, she's going to come back to where the money is." Triple H patted his title belt. He leaned forward even more, putting himself practically nose to nose with the Animal. "But don't worry, Dave…I'll take good care of her."

That did it. Batista rose so abruptly that the Cerebral Assassin almost fell over rearing back in surprise. With a control that must have been painful, the Animal grabbed the mic in front of him, lifting it up, his eyes locked on the World Champion. "Three things," he retorted, holding up three fingers to illustrate. "One…if you want to look at the person who made me who I am today, I _suggest_ you look right across the table."

He turned a little, indicating Elektra. The silver-eyed Diva looked up at him, her pale irises wide with disbelief and awe. Batista looked at her, a brief flash of tenderness crossing his features. "You and Ric taught me everything you know…but I wouldn't be standing here right now if it wasn't for her...so if I _ever_ hear you say something like that again about her...I'll put my fist down your throat."

Before Elektra had a chance to digest his statement and all its possible implications, the Animal had turned back toward the Game. "Two," he continued. "Next Sunday...Wrestlemania 21…I am gonna take _your_ World Heavyweight Title. Three—and I don't know quite how to say this, so I'm just gonna say it—" Batista paused, pointing his index finger directly at the Cerebral Assassin, who was now staring at him with open disgust. "_You_…_are an asshole_!"

The arena erupted in raucous cheers. Only Elektra—who had spent ten months with Triple H—was wary. She could sense the emotion bubbling up inside him like molten lava, and very subtly, she pushed herself backward with the end of her crutch.

She was just in time, because with one sudden swift motion, the World Champion grabbed the edge of the table and upended it, throwing it to the side like it weighted nothing. He moved forward, jamming his face into Batista's, muttering things that Elektra was too far away to hear. Quickly, while she still had the opportunity, she dropped to the mat and rolled out of the ring, steadying herself on her good leg and balancing on her crutch. Her eyes were glued to the massive forms of the Animal and the Game, the two men in her life, the two opposing armies in a war she had started long ago.

Triple H moved back, turning toward Flair as though asking for some kind of approval. Without warning, he brought his hand up, nailing the Animal with a hard open-handed slap. Batista's head snapped to the side, but his expression didn't change. In fact, Elektra thought that he was _smiling_. He raised his own hand up, and the gray-eyed Diva saw that he was still holding onto his microphone. The Animal raised it to his lips and uttered only two words:

"_Thank you_."

With that, he dropped the mic, balling his hand into a fist and smashing it into the face of the Cerebral Assassin. The Champion fell backward and Batista crouched over him, laying into him with hard punches. Flair attacked the Animal, looping his jacket around Batista's neck like some sort of half-assed garrotte. It turned out to be useless; Batista shrugged the Nature Boy off like a pesky mosquito.

All around Elektra, the security guards scrambled into the ring, swarming around Batista and dragging him off Triple H. The silver-eyed Diva noted that there had to be at least six or seven of them holding the Animal back, and even this number seemed to be not quite enough.

In front of him, the Game slowly got back to his feet, and hesitating only a moment, went after the restrained Batista with several punches of his own. This was entirely the wrong thing to do. Infused with a fresh surge of primal rage, the Animal threw off the security guards, knocking them down like bowling pins. He charged the World Champion a second time, knocking him down again.

Eventually, though, the security guards managed to restore some order, separating the two men, with three or four guards restraining each wrestler. Batista was roaring wordlessly, the tendons in his neck standing out like thick ropes. Triple H was screaming obscenities. As he did, however, his eyes lighted on a lone figure standing outside the ring, staring back at him with an expression of smug triumph.

Elektra.

The Game bellowed, struggling to break free of the guards and unable to do so. As he watched, powerless to escape, the gray-eyed Diva held up six fingers, then very deliberately drew her finger across her throat. The implication was obvious, even to him.

_In six days…it's over._


	56. Chapter 56: I'm Yours

Chapter 56: I'm Yours

Elektra giggled. "Come on, Dave, why won't you let me see the room?"

Batista looked fondly down at his girlfriend, but didn't remove his hands from her eyes. "I told you, baby," he replied, his voice warm with affection. "It's a surprise."

The silver-eyed Diva leaned back against him, breathing in the scent and the warmth rising off of the Animal. "The last time you covered my eyes like this…you had just forgotten to put the top on the blender and covered my kitchen with green goop."

Batista leaned down, his lips grazing the curve of her ear. "I promise you, baby, there's no goop this time. I swear."

The two of them were standing right outside of their hotel room. It was Thursday night, three days before Wrestlemania, and the rosters from both brands were in Los Angeles for a full weekend of appearances and events prior to the show on Sunday.

The Animal eased Elektra a little closer to the door. "Now, the handle's in front of you, to the right. A little lower—there you go." The gray-eyed Diva fumbled for the door handle, found it and pressed it down. She pushed and the door opened easily. For a moment, she groped in front of her with both hands, certain that it would swing back and catch her right in the face.

As though he was reading her mind, Batista took a few steps further into the room, catching the door with his shoulder as it made its return swing. "Don't worry, I got you," he reassured her. Elektra stumbled a little, and he quickly pulled her a little closer. "Are you all right? Do you need your crutch?"

Elektra shook her head. "I'm fine; my foot just got caught, that's all. Besides…the doctor said I should start putting weight on this leg, anyway."

Batista made a small disapproving noise in his throat. "Yeah, well, we both know how I feel about your doctor, E."

Elektra laughed quietly, leaning back against him for support. "How could I forget? For a few minutes, I was sure that you and him were about to throw down right there in his office." She realized that they had come to a halt. She turned her head to the left and to the right, but all she could see was glimpses of warm yellow light at the edges of her vision. "So…am I ever going to get to see this room, or are you just going to blindfold me for the entire weekend?"

The Animal chuckled, a low rumble that Elektra felt vibrate throughout her entire body. "Hmm…tempting thought," he murmured, dipping his head down to gently nibble her earlobe, his tongue teasing her skin. Elektra immediately felt her face infuse with heat, the sensation rippling downward through her limbs like pleasurable electricity. Before he could arouse her any further, however, Batista took his hands away from her eyes, dropping them down to his sides and taking a step back.

Elektra blinked a few times, her eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden change in light. The hotel room was bigger and slightly more upscale than what they usually stayed in, with a sliding glass door at the far side leading out to a balcony. The first thing that the silver-eyed Diva saw, however, was the flowers. Huge bouquets of roses graced every flat surface; there had to be at least three, maybe four, of them. A second look told her that all of the roses were white, the edges of their petals tinged with magenta—the same roses that Batista had given her at her home back in December.

Elektra tried to speak, found that she couldn't. Instead, she limped forward to the nearest bouquet, reaching out with both hands to cup one of the blossoms and bending down to breathe in its heady scent. The petals felt like velvet beneath her fingertips. The gray-eyed Diva straightened up, and turned around slowly, taking in one last sweep of the floor before setting her gaze on the Animal.

Batista had his thumbs hooked into his pants pockets, staring at her expectantly. His expression was full of warmth and a little anxiousness. "Surprised?"

Elektra looked at the various flower arrangements again, trying to speak past the huge lump in her throat. "_Yeah_!" she finally managed to exclaim. "Dave…you did all this…for _me_?"

The Animal nodded slowly, glancing down at the floor, his demeanor almost embarrassed. "I told the front desk when I made the reservation: 'I don't care if you have to go to every flower shop in L.A….I want everything to be perfect for my girl." He looked up at her again. "Do you like it?"

Tears stung Elektra's eyes, blurring her vision and momentarily turning everything into rippling lines of color and light. "_Like_ it? I _love it_!" Moving unsteadily, she hobbled toward Batista, who stepped forward and enveloped her in his embrace, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around. The silver-eyed Diva wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his, tears starting to stream down her face. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you…"

The Animal gently set her down, pulling back a little. There were tears in his eyes as well. Elektra reached up and touched his face, resting her hand against his cheek. Batista took her hand in his, pressing his lips against her palm. Letting go, he held her face in both of his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumb. Without saying a word, he bent down, sealing her mouth in a gentle kiss.

No sooner had they broken apart, however, then the Animal kissed her again, harder this time, his lips devouring hers. His hands moved from her face down her neck to her shoulder, then slowly down the curves of her body. Elektra moaned softly, desire shooting through her body with such intensity that it made her weak. Batista's hands slid under her shirt, his touch burning against her bare skin.

As the Animal moved his mouth down to her neck, Elektra finally found her voice. "Wait…Trish and Jericho…we were supposed to meet them for drinks—"

"Later," Batista interrupted her, his voice husky, as he gently but insistently moved her toward the bed.

His tongue touched her skin, and Elektra almost cried out with pleasure. "But Chris said…if we were late…he'd make us sing karaoke—"

"Then we'll sing karaoke," the Animal interjected. Letting go of her long enough to peel off his shirt and toss it onto the floor, he wrapped his arms around her waist again. "Right now…all l want is you."

* * *

"So…how are you feeling?"

The gray-eyed Diva blinked, glancing briefly down at the hanger in her hand. "About what? This top? It's nice, but I'm not in love with it."

Trish laughed. "That's good to know. I really don't think that Dave wants to start competing with your clothes." Elektra's mouth twitched upward in a smile at this, and she joined the Women's Champion in her laughter. The two Divas were browsing through a little clothing boutique, killing time in between appearances. The store was relatively empty, which made it enjoyable. As much as both women loved and appreciated the fans, it was nice not being approached for an autograph every five minutes.

Trish eventually calmed down. "No, no, I mean Wrestlemania. You know, biggest event in our sports, thousands in attendance, _day after tomorrow_…" She let her voice trail off.

"Oh, _that_," Elektra replied half-jokingly. Her expression sobered a little, and she reached over to return the shirt to the rack. "I don't know, Trish," she admitted after a few moments had passed. "I don't know. I mean, it's not like it's my first Wrestlemania, but at the same time…it is. You know?" She hesitated again. "Besides…it's not like I really _did_ anything last year."

"Oh, I don't know," the Women's Champion countered. "Not many people can say that they were ringside for a handicap match involving _the Rock_."

"Yeah, but it didn't mean anything!" Elektra exclaimed, turning to look at her friend. Her countenance was completely serious by now. "What's happening in two days…that means something. And it's not just because it's for the title." She looked away, flipping idly through a rack of brightly colored graphic tees. "I knew this match was going to happen the day I walked into Evolution. So what if it's the main event? So what if it's for the World Heavyweight Championship? Deep down…it's really just about the three of us."

The silver-eyed Diva looked back at Trish, a smile flitting back onto her face. "But what about you, and your big title defense against Christy Hemme?"

Trish scoffed, gesturing with her hand. "Oh, please, I could beat that bunny in my sleep."

"And what about Lita?" Elektra's voice was soft, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, both her and Trish's smiles faded. The red-haired Diva had returned a few weeks prior to aid Christy in her bout against the Women's Champion. Even though the three of them still shared a locker room, they were miles apart emotionally, and from the cold glares that Lita constantly gave her former good friends, she had not forgiven either one of them.

Elektra remembered some of the last words she had exchanged with Lita: _When you finish this business with Trish...I'll be waiting..._. She had not spoken to Lita since that night, but she knew that the issues between them were far from over, and she couldn't help but wonder what would happen on the day when she and the Queen of Hardcore finally decided to settle their differences in the ring.

Trish's quiet response interrupted her thoughts: "If Lita tries to get involved…I'll take care of her." There was a cold brusque quality to her voice as she spoke, but Elektra could hear the sadness and regret welling up just below the surface.

For several long seconds, silence reigned between the two Divas, then the Women's Champion cleared her throat. "But enough about that. Let's talk about you and Dave." A mischievous grin appeared on her pretty face and she arched one eyebrow questioningly. "By the way…I couldn't help but notice that the two of you were late last night. You both sing a great version of 'I Don't Want To Miss A Thing'."

"Don't we, though?" Elektra joked, returned her friend's smile. "I'm fine, I think. I've been waiting for this day for so long that I don't think about it anymore. On Sunday, it'll probably hit me, but right now…I'm good. Dave, on the other hand—" She looked away, her smile fading a touch. "I think…I think he's nervous. He won't tell me—he never tells me stuff like that—but I can tell."

"E," The gray-eyed Diva glanced over at her friend, who had a pensive look on her face. Trish hesitated for a moment. "When Dave wins the title on Sunday—and we both know it's not a question of _if_, but a question of _when_—make sure that it doesn't go to his head." She saw the puzzled expression of Elektra's face and continued. "Dave's a great guy, I see that now, and he loves you. But I've been in this business a while, and I've seen a lot of great guys turn into Mr. Hyde because of that title." She stared hard at her good friend. "Please, just don't let Dave become one of them."

Elektra remained quiet for a few seconds as she pondered this. "Don't worry," she reassured the Women's Champion. "I won't." She grinned impulsively, a devilish glint appearing in her pale eyes. "Besides, Dave knows that if he ever starts acting like a jerk, I'll kick his ass."

Trish tried, but was unable to hold back several un-Diva-like snorts of laughter. "Oh my God, I can see it now—Dave walks out to the ring to brag about how great he is—and you run out and start whaling on him with your crutch." At this mental image, Elektra burst into giggles, and the two Divas leaned on each other for support, tears of laughter rolling down their cheeks.

* * *

Elektra awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of traffic and a light breeze blowing across her face. Still half-asleep, she rolled over to drape her arm over Batista—and was surprised into full wakefulness when her hand met only empty air and the smooth texture of the pillow.

The silver-eyed Diva sat up, looking around. The room was dark, but the multitude of street lamps outside the window shed enough light for her to see. A quick glance told her that she was alone.

Elektra looked toward the sliding glass door, and noticed that it was open, the wind blowing the curtains into billowing folds of fabric. A stronger gust pushed them back enough to reveal a familiar imposing figure standing out on the balcony.

The gray-eyed Diva's face relaxed into a loving smile. Shoving the covers aside, she slid her good leg out onto the floor, using the nightstand for support as she pushed herself into a standing position. Her bare feet making no noise on the carpet, she limped to the door, putting one hand on the frame to steady herself.

Batista wore sweatpants and a white wife-beater. He must not have heard her approach, because he didn't turn around. Instead, he rested his elbows on the ledge of the balcony, staring out at the brightly lit cityscape before him. Elektra came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his broad back.

The Animal stiffened, but only for a heartbeat as he realized who it was. "Hey, baby," He turned around, cupping her face in his hands, sliding them back into her hair as he leaned down to give her a kiss. "You startled me."

"Hmm," Elektra murmured, gazing up at him affectionately as he pulled back. "Want some company?"

Batista smiled, the warmth of it lighting up his face. "If it's you…always." He gently tugged her in front of him, wrapping both arms around her waist protectively, his lips brushing the top of her head. The silver-eyed Diva leaned back against him, her eyes drifting half-closed. For several minutes, they stared out at the city spread before them, listening to the sounds of cars and people below them.

After a while, though, Elektra rotated her body around to face him, pressing her hands against his chest. "Dave, talk to me," she gently chided him. "Why are you out here instead of getting some sleep?" She reached up to touch his face. "It's okay; you can tell me."

At first, Batista didn't answer; only took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers. Eventually, he looked down toward the ground, sighing, and in that moment, Elektra caught a glimpse of the uncertainty that dwelled within him. "I don't know, E," he admitted. "I _know_ that I can beat Hunter tomorrow. I _know_ that I'm bigger, stronger, _better_—but at the same time, I can't help but wonder…what if I can't beat him?"

Elektra started to speak, but the Animal rushed on before she could even get the first word out. "And more than that…I worry that I'm going to win the title tomorrow…and then wake up the next day to find out that the past year has been just a dream. The championship, Wrestlemania…" He hesitated for a moment, his eyes finally lifting to rest on her. "_…you._" he finished, his deep voice holding only the slightest quaver. "I don't think that I could stand it…if I lost you." He bent his head down, resting his forehead against hers.

Elektra took a deep shuttering breath, almost too overcome with emotion to speak. "Dave," she answered after several seconds had passed. "No matter what happens tomorrow…I'm yours." She pulled back, gazing into his eyes. "I always have been…and I always will be." She touched his face again, and heard him groan softly with need. "Now come to bed."

Batista smiled, the gleam of the street lights playing off the sharp angles of his features. "Yes, _ma'am_," he replied, his tone half-teasing. Taking him by the hand, Elektra led him back into the room. As soon as they were off the balcony, however, Batista pulled her to him, lifting her up and carrying her over to the bed.

He laid her down gently, covering her body with his own. The Animal stared at her for a moment or two, running his fingers over the curves of her face. "Beautiful," he murmured, his tone almost reverential. "You're so beautiful." Bending his head down, he kissed her slowly, passionately, his tongue sliding into her mouth to meet hers. Elektra entwined her arms around his neck, molding her body against his as she kissed him back.

Batista moved his mouth down to her throat, his tongue trailing lightly against her skin, then to the swells of her breasts. Plucking at the hem of her tank top, he tugged it up over her head and off. He moved back down to her breasts, taking first one in his mouth, then the other. Elektra moaned, squeezing her eyes closed, reaching down blindly to rest her hands against his head. The Animal traveled lower, kissing her abdomen, her navel. He paused, taking hold of her shorts and underwear, and carefully pulling them down and off her body. Elektra felt his warm breath caress the juncture between her legs, and when his tongue touched the most intimate part of her, she cried out, arching her back off the bed.

Batista brought her almost to the point of release, then stopped, leaving her helpless and practically panting with pleasure beneath him. Stripping off his own clothes, he bent down over her, pushing her legs apart, and Elektra gasped and dug her nails into his back as he entered her. She wrapped her good leg around his body, pulling him deeper into her as he found his rhythm.

She felt his mouth against her ear. "I love you, baby," he whispered, almost gasping out the words. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Elektra murmured, and as the wave of pleasure crashed over her as she climaxed, her final word came out almost as an exhalation of breath.

_Always_…


	57. Chapter 57: You and Me

**A/N: So here it is, the final chapter, the end of the story. I first started writing this story about 3 years ago, and right now, I can't believe that it's finally finished. I want to thank everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story; just the fact that you did so means that you took the time to read this story and that, more than anything, means a lot to me.**

**This story may be over, but the adventures of Dave and Elektra are far from finished. Sequel, you say? That's exactly what I'm talking about, so if you liked this story, keep an eye out in the very near future for the sequel, All I Want Is You. **

**Finally, I want to give a big shout-out to my bestest friend in the world, Rosie (Yes, I'm aware that "bestest" is not actually a word). Rosie stumbled onto the story when I was getting toward the end, but she has been my wrestling buddy and fellow Batista lover for many years, and in a few weeks, we are going to go to our first live show and grope some Superstars. Rosie, you're the best! Thanks for all your support!**

**And with that--ENJOY! Peace!**

* * *

Chapter 57: You and Me

Elektra raised her hand to knock, then stopped, glancing right, then left, in apprehension. Wrestlemania 21 was in full swing, and the corridor was jammed with crew members and Superstars, but no one gave her so much as a second glance. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own tasks, whether it be their jobs, their matches, or just succumbing to the indescribable excitement that comes from experiencing the biggest event in sport entertainment.

The silver-eyed Diva was not immune to this sensation; she could feel it rippling through her insides like a mild current of electricity. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she was going to throw up from the anticipation. In a little bit, she would join Batista in the gorilla position, and together, they would walk down to the ring for his main-event match against his former friend (and her ex-boyfriend), Triple H.

But before she could do that, Elektra had one more task to compete. One more door to close before she turned her back on Evolution forever.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand again, and balling it into a fist, rapped sharply on the door of the Evolution locker room. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the door opened a crack to reveal Flair, who peered suspiciously out into the hallway. When he saw that it was Elektra, he pulled the door open wider, and motioned her inside impatiently. "Quick, before someone sees you!"

Elektra almost replied that the majority of the WWE roster had already seen her standing outside Evolution's locker room, but kept her mouth shut instead and moved swiftly into the room. Flair closed the door behind her, then turned around, his expression unreadable.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them regarded each other silently; the Nature Boy and the former First Lady of Evolution. Elektra shifted her eyes toward the door, then back at Flair. "Is Hunter around?"

"He's off with Motor-something or other, getting ready for his big entrance." the Nature Boy answered. "If you're asking whether he's going to come back, I can't guarantee that he won't, so we better make this quick."

His brusque tone left the gray-eyed Diva momentarily lost for words, and another span of silence stretched out between them. Finally, the 16-time World Champion cleared his throat, casting his gaze toward the floor as he spoke. His voice was gentler this time. "So…how's the leg doing?"

Elektra looked down for a second at the limb in question, then back up at him. "It's healing; hopefully, I'll be getting the cast off in a few weeks." She hesitated. "My doctor thinks, though…because I broke it twice…that I'll probably always walk with a limp."

Flair's expression briefly twisted with pain, and he looked away. His voice was low, his slight lisp barely noticeable. "I'm sorry."

Elektra didn't know what to say to this, so she kept silent, clasping her hands in front of her and twisting Batista's ring around her finger nervously.

The Nature Boy's moment of vulnerability passed, however, and he met her eyes again, his countenance once more inscrutable. "No offense, honey, but I doubt you came here so we could talk about your injury." His gaze bore in hers. "So why are you here?"

The silver-eyed Diva lowered her lids, staring down at her hands. "Because…" she began tentatively. She raised her head and stared at Flair, some measure of confidence returning to her voice.. "Because in a little while, we're going to go out there as enemies—and before that happens, I just wanted to let you know that I don't blame you…for _anything_ that's happened to me. I don't blame you—and for what it's worth, I'm sorry things turned out this way."

The Nature Boy's expression didn't change, and Elektra found herself looking away again. "It's just that…" She faltered, took a moment to compose herself, and continued. Her voice was just above a whisper. "I've spent so much of my adult life being unhappy…and even you have to know that was all I was ever going to be with Hunter."

Several seconds passed without either of them saying again. Eventually, Flair sighed and his face softened. "I let you down," he said, his tone full of quiet regret. "I didn't step in when I had the chance…and I hope that, someday, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me."

Elektra looked up sharply, tears pricking her eyes. Quickly, she stepped toward the sixteen-time World Champion, reaching out to grasp his arms affectionately. "Ric, I don't hate you, okay? Sure, you've got a fucked-up idea of loyalty, but you're not a _bad_ guy…and I know that, even if no one else does."

The Nature Boy stared back at her, and his lined face creased in a smile. "Thank you, honey," he whispered, his voice betraying only the barest quaver of emotion. His grin broadened. "Now if Dave ever gets out of line, you just let me know and I'll straighten him out."

Elektra smiled at this joke, but she wasn't through yet. "Seriously, Ric—you know that, someday, he's going to turn on you, too. Just like he turned on Randy, on me, on Dave…" Her smile faded. "Just walk away now while you have the chance. Don't wait for him to beat you senseless. Just…just walk away."

For an instant, Flair's expression sobered, and he glanced down, refusing to meet her eyes. "You go find Dave, and you two be happy together, and you don't worry about what happens to me, understand?"

Elektra slowly shook her head. "I don't get it," she replied after a long moment. "How can you be loyal to someone who doesn't know the meaning of the word?"

The Nature Boy looked up again, and this time, his smile was slightly sad. With one hand, he reached up and patted her cheek gently. "When you've been here a few years…you'll understand." He gathered her close in a fatherly hug, and Elektra returned the embrace, squeezing her eyes closed to keep the tears from spilling down her face.

Flair pulled back, and the gray-eyed Diva saw that he, too, was struggling to keep his emotions in check. "You look so beautiful tonight, honey," he answered. "Now why don't you go and find Dave?"

* * *

As Elektra stepped back out into the corridor, she realized that she was trying not to cry. _Stop that…_she told herself sternly. _When Dave wins the title, you can bawl like a baby. But until then…put a lid on it…_

At the mere thought of that upcoming match, the bout that would determine the World Heavyweight Champion, the silver-eyed Diva's stomach gave another anticipatory lurch, and she swayed back and forth unsteadily. She felt light-headed, and pressed one hand to her temple, hoping that she wasn't going to pass out and hurt herself. The last place she wanted to spend her Wrestlemania was in the trainer's room, watching the main event on a monitor.

At that moment, a strong arm looped itself around her shoulders, bracing her and holding her up. Surprised, Elektra turned, and was greeted with the handsome face of Chris Jericho. The former Undisputed Champion grinned. "Good thing I stopped; you were looking a little wobbly there. Been starting our celebration a little early, have we?" he joked.

Elektra smiled, albeit a little weakly. "Just the usual title match jitters," she shot back, but beneath her teasing tone, there was real strain in her voice.

Jericho must have noticed it, because his expression sobered a little. "Well, then, allow me to be your escort so that you get to gorilla without keeling over." The devilish glint appeared in his eyes again. "Of course, after that, it's pretty much out of my hands. If you faint on the ramp…well, not much I can do about that."

The gray-eyed Diva laughed, feeling some of the tension drain from her body. "I'll keep that in mind." she replied, leaning a little against Y2J for support.

The two of them made their way toward the gorilla position, Jericho taking care to keep pace with Elektra's limping gait. "So…" he asked after a while. "How's your Wrestlemania been so far?"

Elektra grimaced. "Fine…except for the pounding headache and the tremendous effort not to puke." She glanced over at the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla. "I'd ask you the same question…except I know how yours has been." Her expression softened. "Sorry about the Money in the Bank match."

Jericho dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, E. Knowing Edge, he'll probably get impatient and drop the ball within a week…letting the rest of us who actually _earn_ our title shots step in." His voice became joking again. "Speaking of which…when Dave's Champion, do you think you can put in a good word with him for your favorite sexy beast, Chris Jericho?"

Elektra laughed, tilting her head back. "Sure, Chris. When Dave wins, I'll make sure you're the first one on the list." The former Undisputed Champion pumped his fist in a "_Yes_!" motion. Elektra looked over at him, casting her eyes down as she spoke. "_If_ you do _something_ about that ring attire."

Jericho glanced over, following her line of sight down to his brightly-colored wrestling trunks. "What? These? What's wrong with them?"

The silver-eyed Diva raised one eyebrow. "Well, the sparkles, for one—"

"Hey, don't diss the sparkles!" Y2J interrupted. "How do you think I pick up women? Chicks dig the sparkles!"

Elektra giggled. "And I'm sure Trish would _love_ to hear you say that."

Jericho twisted his features into an expression of mock chagrin. "No! Please! Not that!" The two of them dissolved into laughter.

By now, they were almost at gorilla. Elektra's smile faded, and she turned toward Jericho again, her expression completely serious. "Chris, before I go, I just want to say…" She stopped, trying to find the right words. The former Undisputed Champion gazed back at her expectantly. "The stuff that I did to you…when I was in Evolution…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry—"

Jericho waved his hand, cutting her off. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "That was a long time ago, and we've both changed a lot since then." He hesitated for a second, tenderness blossoming on his face. "Besides…you gave me back Trish…and believe me, that's more than all the apologies in the world." The two of them shared a quick hug.

Elektra moved away from him, limping toward the darkened gorilla position. She had only gone a few steps, however, before she turned back toward Jericho. "Just one more question, Chris—how do I look?"

Jericho stroked his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "Let me put it this way," he began. "Is Dave wearing socks?" Elektra frowned, uncomprehending. Y2J's face lit up in a grin once more. "Because if he is…they're going to get knocked off as soon as he sees you."

The gray-eyed Diva couldn't help it; she burst into giggles, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla. As soon as her back was turned, however, her smile faded, nervousness marring her delicate features once again.

Slowly, on legs that no longer felt like they belonged to her, she limped into the gorilla area. As usual, it was crowded with people, but she had no problem spotting the Animal. Batista, like the night before, was deep in thought; he didn't even notice her approach until she gently touched his arm. The Animal turned sharply, his jaw dropping—literally _dropping_—when he beheld his girlfriend.

Elektra wore a pair of low-riding, wide-legged gauzy white pants, and a sleek form-fitting white satin corset. Her long dark hair was pinned up in a loose bun at the back of her head, adorned with a narrow hair band studded with rhinestones. A simple diamond pendant adorned her neck, its solitary gem nestled in the hollow of her throat.

Batista couldn't speak. To him, Elektra looked like an angel, gliding toward him out of the darkness like a beacon of light, reminding him that no matter what the outcome of this match was—there would always be one thing that the Game could never possess. He reached out, took her face tenderly in both hands, his jaw finally unlocked and allowing him to form words again. "_Wow_," he managed to say. "You look…_amazing_." Leaning closer, he placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Seriously, baby, after seeing you, standing here like this—I don't even feel like I need to win anymore."

Elektra turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek against his. "Let's not be _too_ hasty," she joked. "We've made it this far, haven't we?"

The Animal pulled back, staring into her eyes. "Yeah, we have," he answered, his mouth curving into a wry smile. He bent down, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You ready?" he murmured into her hair."

The silver-eyed Diva very slowly shook her head. "No…are you?"

"Uh-uh," Batista straightened up, trailing his hands down her face, her neck, her shoulders, down to her waist. He pulled her close, sheltering her in the curve of his body. "So let's go out there and fake it."

Elektra rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of the Animal's heart beat, savoring this momentary peace. "Bring it on," she whispered.

* * *

With what seemed like absolutely no effort, Batista hoisted the Cerebral Assassin over his head, turning and throwing him onto the mat with a brutal powerslam. Dropping to his knees, he hooked the Game's leg for the pin. Referee Mike Chioda was right beside him, slamming his hand on the canvas.

1…2…

Triple H's shoulder shot off the mat before the ref could get to three. The Animal sat back on his haunches, disbelief etched across his features.

Elektra slammed her hand down impatiently on the ring apron. "Come on, Chioda!" she ranted. "Get your head out of your ass and count to three already!" The criticism was useless; her screaming was not going to phase the referee, and besides, the Game had clearly gotten his shoulder up before three. But, dammit, it made _her_ feel better.

The gray-eyed Diva paced the length of the ring, her eyes glued to its occupants. Batista clearly was having the same thought as her; he was arguing with Chioda, holding up three fingers. The WWE official shook his head, holding up only two.

While the two of them bickered, Triple H slowly rolled out of the ring, planting both feet unsteadily on the floor and staggering a few paces before collapsing against the Raw announce table. Elektra crept to the corner of the ring, holding onto the ringpost with one hand and gazing warily at the Cerebral Assassin. The match had been an intense bout from the beginning, with both men gaining and losing the upper hand. The silver-eyed Diva hadn't realized until now just how little physicality there had been between Batista and Triple H prior to this match. Sure, there had been words hurled back and forth, there had been indescribable tension—but there had never been anything like this. Just like the fans, this match was something she was witnessing for the first time.

And just like the fans…she had absolutely no idea how it was all going to end.

The Game's head had been busted open during an earlier collision with the ringpost, and blood stained his crude features like a bright red mask. Even in his weakened state, however, Elektra was loath to go anywhere near him. She had seen the Cerebral Assassin walk away from worse. As she watched, he slid off the table onto the floor, wedging his upper body into the space between the announce table and the security barrier.

Behind him, Batista jumped down off the ring apron, heading toward the World Heavyweight Champion with grim determination in his features. He was temporarily distracted by the intervention of the Nature Boy, who flew at his former mentee with a barrage of wild punches and chops. Flair had asserted himself in the match from the beginning, and even a couple clotheslines courtesy of the Animal had failed to slow him down.

Batista turned, and with a right hand, nailed the sixteen-time World Champion in the jaw. Flair went down hard, clutching his face. The Animal looked down at him for several seconds, but whether with satisfaction or regret, Elektra couldn't tell. Behind him, Triple H was getting back to his knees, inching his way out from the space between table and barrier. As he emerged, Elektra noticed that both of his hands were wrapped around something. Horror flickered through her as she realized that it was a steel chair. If the Game used it…he would be disqualified, allowing him to escape with his tenth title reign intact. And from the looks of it, that was exactly what the Cerebral Assassin intended to do.

The gray-eyed Diva opened her mouth to scream—and was saved from doing so by Mike Chioda, who leaned over the ropes, admonishing the World Champion and grabbing onto the chair to tug it out of his grasp. Triple H tugged back, however, and Chioda lost the brief battle of tug-of-war, the momentum sending him sailing over the ropes. He landed awkwardly on the floor, just barely missing the steel steps, and immediately clutched his knee in pain.

The Game stood still for a moment, regarding his handiwork with absolutely no emotion. He turned away, and soon learned that Batista's attention was once again on him. The Animal nailed him with a stiff boot to the gut, and grabbing a handful of the Cerebral Assassin's hair, hurled him back into the ring.

Triple H rolled once or twice before landing in a sitting position. He quickly scrambled backward on hands and knees as Batista entered the ring, moving toward the World Champion with methodical, deliberate slowness. The Game held up his hands, his mouth moving in pleas that Elektra couldn't hear.

Batista motioned for the Cerebral Assassin to get to his feet. "Come on, Hunter," he taunted, his tone mocking. "You wanted to go; so let's go!" He leaned over Triple H, his bulk like an impenetrable wall.

Elektra caught a blur of motion at the corner of her vision, and turned in time to see Flair slide under the ropes and charge the Animal, the massive gold-and-leather World Heavyweight Championship in hand. Almost as though he had eyes in the back of his head, Batista turned, and ducked just in time. Flair screeched to a halt, but before he could get his bearings, the Animal scooped him up and slammed him down with a powerful spinebuster. The Nature Boy lay motionless on the mat. Batista stared down at him, his expression a mixture of bitterness and regret.

The referee was back in the ring now, kneeling over Flair and trying to bodily roll him out of the ring. Batista turned his attention back to Triple H, who had gotten to his feet, his back to the Animal. As Batista reached out to grab him, the Game whirled around, and Elektra saw—too late—that he was clutching his World Championship. The belt caught the Animal between the eyes and he went down hard.

The silver-eyed Diva shrieked wordlessly, clapping both hands over her mouth in shock. She looked around frantically, trying to think of something she could do, but the Cerebral Assassin was already hooking Batista's leg for the pin, the ref beside him, his hand thudding against the canvas—

1…2…

Batista's left shoulder shot off the mat with such force that the power of it threw Triple H off him. The World Champion's skull connected with Chioda's, and the referee collapsed to the canvas, holding his head in both hands and writhing in pain. Neither man seemed to notice; they were both too preoccupied with getting to their feet. Batista was still shaking his head to clear away any remaining dizziness; Triple H had to use the ropes to pull himself up. Once he had done so, he charged toward his former protégé, but just as he had with Flair, the Animal grabbed him and with one swift motion, nailed him with a spinebuster.

The entire Staples Center leapt to their feet, screaming and cheering. Batista was up, pacing around the ring, shaking the ropes, roaring wordlessly. Down by the apron, Elektra nodded in approval, clapping her hands. "Come on, Dave," she murmured. "End it. End it _now_."

The Animal turned toward the gray-eyed Diva, who enthusiastically gave him a double thumbs-up. A quick affectionate smile flashed across Batista's face, but when he turned back toward Triple H, he was all business again. Grabbing the Game, he hauled him up and set him up for the Batista Bomb—but with a quickness that astounded even Elektra, the Cerebral Assassin dropped to his knees, bringing his forearm up between the Animal's legs in a vile low blow.

His action was greeted with a chorus of boos almost as deafening as the cheers encouraging Batista. Chioda, of course, had missed the entire thing. The Animal bent over, clutching himself with both hands, his face a portrait of shock and agony that would have comical if the circumstances hadn't been so deadly serious. He collapsed to the mat, his momentum temporarily halted by the simplest and most illegal of counters.

"_No_!" Elektra screamed, grabbing onto the ropes with both hands and shaking them violently. "Fucker! You _fucker_!" Rage tore through her, obliterating everything else in its wake. If her anger had had the ability to manifest itself, Triple H would have been little more than a smudge of ash on the canvas by now. Unbidden, her mind returned to New Year's Revolution, to how Randy Orton had pinned Batista using that very same tactic—and how, just like now, she had been powerless to stop it.

His smirk barely visible through the veil of blood, the World Champion pulled Batista up, shoving his head between his thighs and wrenching his arms behind his back in preparation for the Pedigree. He looked up, and caught Elektra's eye. The Game had never been one to pass up an opportunity to gloat, and now was no exception: the wink he gave her was unmistakable.

The gray-eyed Diva backed a step or two away from the ring, hoping that the cameras were picking up the expression of absolute loathing on her face. "Damn you," she spat. "You fucker, god_damn_ you to _hell_!"

The Cerebral Assassin apparently was not going to waste any more time taunting her, however. He started to launch his body upward—then stopped, frowning. He tried again, and once more, was unable to propel his body off the ground. Triple H looked bewildered, then suddenly glanced down in surprise at his clasped hands.

As he, Elektra, and the rest of the world watched, the World Champion's hands began to draw apart, as though by an unseen force. The Game looked around frantically, his eyes wide. Outside the ring, Elektra couldn't suppress a gasp of shock and jubilation. In the year that she had been here, she had _never_ seen anyone power out of the Pedigree, certainly not to the extent that she was witnessing right now. "Come on, Dave," she urged. "Come on…"

With a roar, the Animal straightened up, inverting the Cerebral Assassin. Grabbing onto the World Champion with both hands, he hit him with a modified power slam. Elektra heard the WOOSH as all of the air was driven out of Triple H's lungs. The silver-eyed Diva squealed with delight, jumping up and down on her good leg.

In front of her, Batista grabbed the top rope with both hands, almost tearing it out of the ringpost. He bellowed with rage and triumph. Elektra clapped her hands. Her eyes glued to Batista, she pointed at the Game. "Finish him!" She was vaguely aware that she was screaming, but she was too pumped up with adrenaline to notice. This was the moment more than a year in the making, the moment she had known was inevitable when she turned that corner and came face to face with Dave Batista— "Finish him! _Powerbomb his ass straight to hell_!"

Whirling on his heel, the Animal turned back toward his former friend and mentor. Striding toward Triple H, he grabbed him, and for the second time in the match, set him up for the Batista Bomb. This time, there was no low blow; with a grunt of exertion, Batista hoisted the Cerebral Assassin up onto his shoulders.

In that instant, time seemed to hesitate, and in a blinding flash, Elektra saw her past year in the WWE flit past her eyes. And in that single moment, she realized that all of it, all the pain, all the heartache, all the anguish, all of it had been _worth_ it, because it had led to this, to this one instant in time. Evolution hadn't rejected her and Batista; rather, they had evolved beyond it, and that was what terrified the Game.

Because what she and the Animal felt for one another was more powerful than any faction.

The force of the Batista Bomb shook the ring, and for a second, the silver-eyed Diva was sure that it was going to collapse. But, miraculously, it held, and Batista dropped down to his knees, almost falling across Triple H, grabbing his leg, hooking it for the pin. Chioda crawled to his side, his arm rising and falling with what seemed like indeterminable slowness.

1…

2…

_3…_

Elektra blinked, her mouth falling open. With numb fingers, she reached over and pinched her arm, and the sharp pain that followed told her more than words that she was not dreaming; that Dave Batista, _her_ Dave Batista, was the _new_ World Heavyweight Champion.

The gray-eyed Diva tried to scream with excitement, but no sound would come out. She clapped both hands over her mouth, trying to calm the breath that was tearing in and out of her lungs. She swayed on her feet, and only the cast immobilizing her left leg prevented her from collapsing to her knees. She grabbed onto the ring for support, trying to will herself into action, but she couldn't move past this moment—and deep down, she really didn't want to.

In the ring, Mike Chioda handed Batista the World Heavyweight Championship, its title plate still bearing the name of Triple H. The Animal clutched it to his chest, falling forward on hands and knees onto the canvas as though in prayer. His face was contorted with emotion, tears rolling down his cheeks. Just seeing him in this rare moment of strength and vulnerability affected Elektra deeply, and she burst into tears as well, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

Batista rose slowly to his feet, still holding onto his hard-fought title. He turned toward the far corner of the ring, and Elektra noticed that Triple H—the now _former_ World Heavyweight Champion, she noted with extreme satisfaction—was up as well, panting for breath, leaning heavily against the turnbuckles for support.

For a long tense moment, the two rivals stared at each other. Finally, Batista raised the World Championship with one hand, clenching the other into a fist. He roared wordlessly, as though somehow saying: _This is mine now…and if you want to take it away from me, you better kill me first…_

Slowly, the Cerebral Assassin's head drooped down toward his chest, and he sagged to the ground, rolling out of the ring in defeat. He was met by Flair, who wrapped both arms around him, supporting him as he led him away from the ring. The Game did not turn around.

Elektra watched him go for a second or two, and in the midst of her tears, a coldness came over her features. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming two words:

_Goodbye, Hunter…_

With that, she turned back to the ring, and in doing so, turned her back forever on Triple H.

As soon as she saw Batista, emotion overcame her again, and fresh tears began to run down her cheeks. The Animal, with obvious effort, climbed up to the second rope, holding up the title belt—_his_ title belt. Above him, pyrotechnics exploded, filling the arena with noise and light and smoke. Elektra saw and heard none of it, however; all of her attention was on the man she loved. More than anything, she wanted to be there in that ring with him, but still, she hung back. As much as they had endured together, this moment was for him, and him alone.

Just then, Batista looked down at her, and the love for her that shone in his eyes spoke more than words ever could. He hopped down off the ropes and motioned for her to come into the ring. Without waiting for him to assist her, Elektra slid awkwardly under the bottom rope. The Animal was instantly at her side, pulling her carefully to her feet. As soon as she was up, he held her at arm's length, regarding her with what could have been awe.

Elektra moved in to kiss him, but he held her back. "Wait a minute, baby," he protested. "I've got blood all over me; I don't want to mess up your clothes."

The gray-eyed Diva shook her head incredulously, amazing that at this moment, all Batista could think about was something as trivial as her attire. "I don't care!" she retorted, moving in closer again. "Dave, you did it. You _did_ it!"

Batista shook his head. "No, baby…_we_ did it." With then, he leaned in and sealed her mouth in a kiss. Wrapping his free arm around her shoulders, he crushed her against him, his lips devouring hers. Elektra held his face in her hands as she kissed him back.

She could have spent the rest of the evening in that ring, kissing the Animal, but Batista pulled back abruptly, holding up his index finger. "Hang on a minute." Turning away, he walked toward the other side of the ring while Elektra watched, puzzled. She couldn't hold back a shocked gasp as he dropped the massive World Championship on the canvas, stepping over it as though it had ceased to mean anything.

The Animal stuck his head through the ropes, leaning over to say something to Lillian Garcia, who had moved up to the side of the ring. The Raw announcer smiled, nodded, and handed what looked like a microphone to the new World Heavyweight Champion.

Batista thanked her, then pulled his body back into the ring, turning around and walking back toward his girlfriend. He halted a few feet away, raising the mic to his mouth. Elektra cocked her head to the side, staring at him with obvious bewilderment.

The Animal's voice was rough, rasping with raw emotion. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. His dark eyes bored into Elektra's. "I had a whole speech ready, but after everything that's just happened…I can't remember what the hell I was going to say." He paused a minute, took a few more deep breaths, and continued. "All I _do_ know is that I love you…and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Another pause, another breath. "So, baby…Elektra…"

Batista stopped, dropping the mic back down to his side, and opening up his other hand to reveal a small black velvet box. Elektra felt her heart plummet into her stomach, felt her legs buckle beneath her. The Animal flipped the top open, and looking up at her once more, dropped down to one knee. He extended the box toward her, light reflecting off the beautiful diamond ring inside, as he lifted up the mic again.

"Will you marry me?"

For a single, gut-wrenching second, Elektra felt her heart stop. She gasped, gulping in a lungful of oxygen at the same time. She pressed both hands to her chest, trying to tell herself that this was real, trying to reassure herself that she wasn't dreaming. She took a step toward the Animal, then another, until she was right in front of him. Her throat was filled with tears, and she quickly motioned for the mic, trying to collect herself to say what mattered before emotion made her break down completely.

Batista stared at her expectantly, his eyes filled with anxiousness and hope. The silver-eyed Diva raised the mic to her lips and uttered only one word:

"_Yes_!"

Batista's face creased in a smile, a cry of joy escaping his throat. Rising to his feet, he wrapped his arms around Elektra, lifting her off the ground. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and then finally her lips. The gray-eyed Diva entwined her arms around his neck, kissing him back with a ferocity and a hunger that--just like the love she felt for him--she knew would never fade away.

Wrestlemania 21 had ended, but for the new World Heavyweight Champion and his new fiancée, their life together was just beginning.

**THE END**


End file.
